Impediments of Our Existence
by Vianne Lee
Summary: A young woman moves to Sleepy Hollow and only one man befriends her. Together, they'll steal your heart. Novella completed. Updates frequently. Please read and review. WORLD PREMIERE! I started this story over a year ago and now it's finally ready for you
1. A Different Smile

**Title: Impediments of our Existence **06-09-2004

**Author: Vianne Lee**

**Rights: copyright ©VianneLee2004**

Setting: Sleepy Hollow, NY 1802

_Disclaimer: I **do not** own Ichabod Crane, Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman's skull or anything from the book, "The Headless Horseman," by Washington Irving. I **do not** own Ichabod Crane, Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman's skull or anything from the Paramount Picture film, "Sleepy Hollow." I **do own**, however, any new characters, ideas, exc. Any reproduction is unintentional. _

The following novel is a sequel to the Paramount Picture film, "Sleepy Hollow," based on the book, "The Headless Horseman," by Washington Irving.

I

A Different Smile

I had just moved to a small village; a village where everybody knows everyone and not often does a secret go unheard. Every member of the community did as they were expected. No more, no less – each day, one after the other.

Newcomers, like myself, were neither wanted nor welcomed. Frowns and scowls came often, and therefore, I kept to myself…for a little while anyway.

I had been leasing a tiny, one-room cottage on the skirts of the village. I fared well there, but there was only one reason I adored the little shack; the two apple trees that grew just outside the northern window. I found myself looking particularly forward to autumn, when the couple of trees would bear delicious red fruit.

However, it was not autumn, but late summer and I frequently walked the two miles from my cottage to the small brook that lay on the edge of a small meadow. Hours would pass while I collected smooth stones, or the wild flowers that flourished there. I always referred to this place as my own, until one peaceful evening when I discovered an entirely new way to look at it.

I had been sitting in the meadow's soft grasses, humming softly a little tune I had learned as a child. While doing this, I had been gathering wild flowers. Freshly in their bloom, my bouquet was rapidly increasing its number and exploding with color every time a new blossom was added.

The sun had just begun to set, disappearing behind the rolling hills of the countryside. In the east, I noticed a vast blanket of dark rain clouds sneaking upon the vivid colors of dusk to the west. I had been comparing east from west, cloud from cloud, when my concentration broke from the rustling leaves and the snapping of twigs from the wooded brake to the west. I did not rise from the position I currently held, but just sat there as the sounds became more strident and clear. What, or who, was making such a racket? Or worse, what was approaching me? A wild animal? I looked around beside me and realized that I had no method of defense, if I would have to resort to it. Terrified, I froze and imagined the worse.

Abruptly, from the wood, the creator of the rumpus made an appearance. My heart leaped and I gasped, but not of fright. Standing before me was the most beautiful spectacle I had ever witnessed. It was not the wild animal that I had feared, but a man, mounted atop a stocky, grullo steed. He sat his saddle straight and proper, his attire black, few shades darker than that of his mount. He seemed to hold a dark demeanor, as his hair was also the same black as his clothing. It was neatly combed and gently framed his face. Because of this, his skin seemed to cast a fair complexion, yet surprisingly, it was extremely appealing. His hair accented the fine features of this face; the high cheekbones and pronounced jaw line. However, his most mystifying feature was, by far, the most breathtaking. His dark eyes were full of emotion, a life within itself. He silhouetted against the green of the trees and the setting sun's blaze reached and touched him, producing an orange glow that seemed to erupt from his body.

Bewildered, I rapidly rose to my feet, the mass of flowers that had accumulated in my skirt fluttered to the ground forming a nest around my bare ankles. I opened my mouth to say something, anything at all, but no words escaped my lips. I was speechless, for I had nothing to say to this stranger who had wondered into _my_ meadow, interrupted _my_ thoughts, and literally scared me out of _my_ wits! I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and turn them a soft tint of crimson. I was frustrated and slightly embarrassed by my actions.

I couldn't just stand there; this moment was awkward enough. Slowly, I knelt down and began recollecting my scattered bouquet, keeping on eye on the stranger. From the far corner of my eye, I noticed a smile appear on the man's face as his dismounted his horse. The purpose of this smile I was unsure of. Perhaps it was of shyness. Nevertheless, the smile was charming, indeed. Probably the most stunning I had ever laid eyes on and certainly one of the first I had seen since my arrival to the village. I was pleased, relieved even, although I did not let the pleasure and excitement show in my expression.

Suddenly, the silence that had occupied the meadow was broken. It's effect on me was as if a roll of thunder bellowed, for the meadow was so quiet that you could easily hear a pinecone plummet from it's tree: "Apparently I'm not the only one who finds the peace in this meadow comforting." He spoke as if he were stating a fact; timid, and nearly sarcastic. But even with these traits, its deep purr was melody to my ears. From the sound of his voice, I could tell he was well educated and intelligent.

"Yes, I had found that the meadow _was_ rather comforting," I replied clearly exposing the annoyance in my voice.

Picking up on this, he sighed. "I apologize about the flowers, miss. My intentions were not of those to startle you."

"Yes, well I..." but I could not complete my sentence, for the man knelt down beside me and began recollecting the fallen blossoms. I was truly shocked. I had not expected this, especially from a person, a stranger, I hardly knew. With every last one retained, he handed me his small compilation of wild flowers, and for a brief moment, our hands touched. I blushed, and quickly added the multi-colored bundle to the others. "Thank you." I politely expressed my gratitude, even though I felt that he had no right to assist me, without I asking him to do so. "Your efforts are greatly appreciated."

"May I inquire the name of the gentleman who is to receive this bouquet?" he asked innocently.

"What gives you the idea that they are for a gentleman and furthermore, what give you the right to pry?" I questioned him. He looked at loss for words at my shrewd remark, and seeing this, I continued. "If you must know, they are not intended for a gentleman, or a person, for that matter, but to add a decorative touch to my rather plain cottage."

"I…I see," he replied. "I did not mean to meddle." He then smiled, the same smile that took my breath away only moments after I first saw him. My heart melted for this amiable man and no longer was I irritated for his intrusion, but actually, rather thankful. He was the first of the villagers to treat me so kindly and with such an open heart. "What is your name?" I asked curiously. "You seem somewhat familiar. Have I met your acquaintance? I am fairly new to this town, and though small, some faces escape me."

"Ah, now who is the one prying?" he questioned slyly. I smiled guiltily. Apparently, my curiosity had gotten the best of me. He laughed at my reaction, "No, I do not believe we've met before. My name is Ichabod Crane."

He was _the_ Ichabod Crane? The renowned character I had heard so many stories about? My mouth dropped open slightly, and when I realized what I was doing, I quickly snapped it shut. "I must have forgot my manners," I said embarrassed. "But one cannot help it. You are _the_ Ichabod Crane? The one man that saved this town, Sleepy Hollow, from a headless terror not quite two years ago?"

"The one and only," he said still smiling. He rose to his feet and offered me a hand. I accepted, and when he grasped my hand, I trembled at his touch. His hand was warm and rough, yet ultimately perfect. "T-Thank you." I stuttered when I was once again at my feet. " I don't mean to bombard you with questions, but I find this very interesting." He nodded and I went on, "But this headless horseman- Was he real?" My eyes widened as I waited for a response.

"As real as I am standing here." He said. This was not exactly the answer I had been hoping for, because I still had my doubts that Ichabod Crane was real and standing right before me.

I looked into his face again, but this time the smile had disappeared and his face had a serious expression. I knew that what had occurred two years past was none of my concern, although fascinating, I should have considered this before I immediately began drowning the poor gentleman with my uncouth questioning. I began to realize how horrible it would have been to be one of the townspeople during the time when the headless horseman rode, and how vile and terrible it would have been to witness such a beheading.

Before I had a chance to make my apology for being coarse, he spoke. "A word of advice towards you, Miss; don't refer to anything that occurred during those ominous times. People here, are uh…a little… superstitious." It was not the pleasant voice that I heard prior, and there was a slight quiver to it, that raised goose bumps on my flesh. I desperately wanted to know more, but I did not dare inquire. There was something about his voice that frightened me. I looked down, as if I was a small child being scolded. I did not know what to think, nor say. His words, to me, were not those of advice or suggestion, but more like an order, as if I did not follow his 'word of advice,' the consequences would be dire.

I was beginning to understand why I hadn't been entirely welcome when I arrived. People here were afraid of the past repeating itself and any individual new to the plot could trigger another, or a series, of midnight rides and beheadings. A chill of terror shot down my spine just at the thought. "So that's the reason they're not entirely fond of seeing new faces?" I asked him in a cautious whisper.

"Precisely." He replied. The shakiness had vanished from his voice, hinting at the kindliness that was present in his fist words to me.

"And you?" I asked.

"What about me?" he raised an eyebrow. "I do not judge people on past occurrences with they have no connection with them." He took a deep breath and straightened his back. "Darkness sneaks upon fairly fast around here," he said noticing that the sun had completely disappeared behind the hills and now only a soft gray light surrounded us. "I'd better be continuing on my way." He mounted his horse with ease. "And you?" he asked concerned.

"Me? I know this meadow like the back of my hand. I come and go as I please."

"But have you been out here past the darkest hour?"

Well, no. I haven't." I admitted.

"Because," he continued, "Many people here would advise you to never venture out into these woods alone; especially at night. These woods, the western woods, hold many mysteries that shouldn't be uncovered."

I sauntered over to his mount and stroked his dappled neck. I felt the contrast between his warm pelt and the cool evening air. I lifted my head up so I could see the man's face and smiled. "And do I seem like the type who follows advise from others?"

"No. More like the type that purposely does the opposite of what people tell them."

I chuckled half-heartedly. "Is that what you predict Constable Crane?"

"Only if I was making a prediction."

I thought for a moment. "Well, then. I must be going." I could not think of anything else to say. "It was certainly a pleasure, Constable Crane." He grinned and before I knew it I reached up and handed him my bouquet of flowers, currently resembling shades of mauve from the diminutive amount of light.

He glanced at the flowers and then back at me. "Thank you." He said politely. "But I'm afraid I have no use for them."

"Neither do I," I said, turned around, and began walking towards the direction of my cabin. The misty mosses and grasses embraced my feet, turning them numb.


	2. A Change of Pace

II

A Change of Pace

The clouds I had noticed earlier had rested themselves stealthily above me, so occupied with pure liquid I was certain they were going to burst at any moment, accompanied by a violent explosion of Mother Nature's roar. I continued my small quest back to my cottage and only minutes after I had left the meadow, my prediction proved itself true, for thunder hollered and shook the ground, and immediately cool water began to fall swiftly to the ground. The rain was so thick it blinded me, and after a few seconds I was completely drenched from head to toe. My skirt seemed to weigh a hundred pounds and it was accomplishment enough progressing a few steps. I was dreading the two miles I had to walk, and hoped that this weather would seize as quickly as it neared. How I longed for the dryness and warmth of my cottage, and a hot meal to fill my vacant stomach. All I could do was press on further and bear such conditions.

Unexpectedly, I heard something interrupt the rhythmic beat of the downpour. How faint it was, but it was there. I slowly turned around and saw the blur of the steeped Ichabod Crane, mounted on his horse, glossy from the rain. Water was dripping from the manes and noses of both man and creature.

"Miss? Miss?" he shouted, but I could barely make out his words and I moved closer. "I couldn't help but wonder how you would fair in such conditions as these, and it would be most polite of me to offer you a ride back to town." He didn't speak nearly as loud, but effort was still put forth to be heard over the clamor of the precipitation.

"It is most generous of you," I shouted. "But alas, I could not accept such an offer from a man I hardly know."

"But you'll catch cold, or worse!" He swung hastily off his horse and landed in front of me. "These are no conditions for a lady to be venturing in. Pneumonia, or…or…"

"I'll go with you," I interrupted him and smiled.

"What?" he paused as if he forgot his offer during his explanation. "Oh, of course." He ginned and turned to his horse, in a position to remount. He slipped his foot in the stirrup and swung into his saddle, obviously a tad difficult considering his soaked clothing. When he was sure he had a sure seat, he turned and offered me a hand. I took it, and together we hoisted myself behind his saddle. His horse pranced nervously at the sudden weight change, but Ichabod's hand calmed him. Although awkward, I was grateful for the man's generous offer. Abruptly, Ichabod spurred his horse, and with a swift setback, he broke into a rapid gallop. Instantaneously, my arms were around the body in front of me. I didn't even bear a thought of propriety, although it would have been most modest and decent of me to do so. But how could I have thought such in the given conditions? My eyes felt as if they were enveloped by fire, and my face pierced by thousands of needles as rain and wind collided with my tender flesh.

From a distance, I could see the dim radiance of lamps and lanterns escaping from the glass windows in Sleepy Hollow as we neared closer to our destination. From this view, the tiny village appeared welcoming and warm. I could imagine the families who occupied these homes, gathered around the dining table feasting on turkey and pork. Their laughs would ring out into the streets, setting a joyful mood even in the densest of places. It was hard to believe that terror and evil could invoke such a community.

Ichabod reined his horse to a halt when we reached the tattered stable. Although sturdy, weather and other elements had taken its toll on the structure casting a haunting appearance. The downpour had lightened into slight drizzle, but we did not notice until we had both dismounted, and the grullo gelding was content with hay and grains in his stall.

Outside the stable, the full moon dangled above us, shedding a soft tint of pale light. I glanced at Ichabod as he was securing the stable doors. His clothes hung limply on his medium frame, water dripping from every fold of his clothes. His hair stuck to the sides of his windburn face in clusters. I was in no better condition as my dress was constricted against every curve of my body and my hair hung flaccid and tangled. What a sight we were to the ignorant eye! I prayed that no one would venture out and notice Ichabod Crane with a mysterious woman, out past the hour, and in such a state.

Hastily, I staggered over toward Ichabod. "Constable Crane," I began when I was certain he was in hearing range. "I appreciate your obliging services to a poor woman… you are really too kind. But, alas, I must deliver my salutations and return to my to my cabin."

"I feel it as my duty to see you to your home," Ichabod politely offered.

"Constable Crane," I objected. "I'm sure I can manage. Furthermore, you have already assisted me an immense deal, and I do not want to take advantage of your services. I am already uncertain of how I can repay you for your decent hospitality towards me today."

"Very well. Though I do not agree with a word you said, I feel it would be pointless in attempting to change your mind. However, there is a community ball at the Van Dan's tomorrow evening, and it would be most decent for you to at least make an appearance."

"What is it your place to tell me about decency, Constable Crane?" I questioned.

"My apologies, I did not mean to…" But before he could finish I indecorously cut him off. I didn't even think twice about politeness.

"I…I don't know a soul in Sleepy Hollow, and few acquaintances. I couldn't possibly show up to a gathering of strangers and…and without an invitation! That is indecent!" My voice rose as I completed my exclamation. How could such a thought even cross his mind? I couldn't envisage my presence at the festivity… not knowing anyone and arrive without being invited… immodest, improper, indecent. Those words dashed across my brain repeatedly. How could Ichabod even make such a decadent suggestion?

"I wouldn't think of it indecent at all, if I do say so," Ichabod differed. "I would just think of it as a woman, new to Sleepy Hollow, familiarizing herself to the rest of the community."

"And the invitation?" I asked impatiently.

"Don't fret over that," Ichabod grinned. "I'll invite you. Consider this your formal invitation."

I was lost for words. I attempted to think of some hopeful excuse, but nothing came to mind. I let out a defeated sigh. "What time shall I arrive?"

The smile on Ichbod's face almost seemed victorious. "Between six and seven o'clock."

"I thank you, Constable Crane. Good evening." I said my formal farewell.

"It was my pleasure, Miss. Until tomorrow." With this, we both turned around and proceeded in opposite directions.

My teeth were chattering and my fingers were on the verge of numbness when I finally opened the squeaky pine door to my cabin. I promptly shut it, closing out the howling wind. After I had lit the lamp on the foyer table, and started a fire in the brick fireplace, I changed out of my damp skirt and equally drenched garments. My skin tingled as it was released from the dress's clammy grasp, and for a moment, I stood nude by the hearth, letting the fire's breath warm my skin. Content I was, and therefore, I slipped on a cotton nightdress and my wool common-day shawl. The pit in my stomach moaned reminding me I was famished, for I had not consumed a bite since my morning meal. I placed the vessel of broth from last evening's supper on the skewer and added additional timber to the fire, eager for the burning broth to occupy my barren stomach.

While waiting for the broth to boil, I pulled out my ivory hand-mirror and comb. Brushing my fingertips over the smooth surfaces, as I had done many times prior, my heart slumped in my chest as a lone tear rolled down my cheek. These two belongings were in all likelihood the most valuable I had in my possession, yet to me they were priceless. They were my mother's, who departed this life as she birthed me, and given to me by my father when I turned sixteen, three days before he gave up his ghost. At sixteen, I was parentless, and alone in a strange and brutal world, suited to others several years more my age. Everyday proved to be an act of survival, and now, three years later, I find myself alone in an undersized cottage skirting a village filled with persons I did not know. Three years hadn't lead too much of a difference.

I sighed and began to attempt to untangle my hair, now dry and stiff. Several minutes later, my hair rest atop my head in an unadorned bun, and I sat at the old, one-person table, entranced by the ecstasy of my simple repast.

Sleep did not come without difficulty, for many hours passed with my eyes wide and alert. I could not take my mind off of the gentleman, legendary Ichabod Crane, whom I had encountered in the meadow. Was something there? Surely, there had to be; I hadn't just felt nothing when I was in his presence. I had no doubt I was attracted to him, that wasn't hard to justify, but was there something more? I'll find out at the community ball tomorrow, I presume…the ball he was so intent as to have me attend. I let out a baffled sigh. All I could do was wait.


	3. The Blood Red Gown

The Blood Red Gown

The water scalded me with pleasure, as I slowly stepped in and lowered my body into the washtub. Today was the day of the community ball, and I wanted to cast an elegant and respectful appearance. I cleansed my hair and body, and lingered in the tub until my fingertips resembled dried prunes. It was not frequently I bathed fully, and typically only scrubbed with a sponge from a wash pan. This was undeniably a luxury and I could remain in the tub for an eternity, as long as the water turned my skin scarlet.

After I had dried, I rummaged around in my oak trunk for something to wear. I couldn't even be considered close to well off, but I had what I had, and learned to make due. My parents left most of their belongings to me after their passing and a vast majority of the items in the trunk were my mother's; four dresses, a small amount of jewelry, and a pair of velvet black slippers with a similar shawl. Two of the dresses that occupied the trunk were common-day dresses; faded and torn. I couldn't possibly wear either for such an event as a ball. The third dress was a Sunday dress that would be worn when I would attend church. It was a pallid dress, with lace hinting the seams. Although decent, the dress was simple and not suitable for an evening party.

The fourth dress lay deep in the depths of the trunk, as if a sunken vessel latent at the bottom of the Atlantic. I had never worn it and had begun to question why I had kept it. I heaved it out from its depths and my heart skipped a beat when I saw it unfolded. It was ultimately perfect. I was not staring at a dress, but a blood red, velvet gown. I could hardly contain my enthusiasm as I slipped the gown over my head, wrestled it over my camisole, and buttoned the clasp at the nape of my neck. I hurriedly dashed across the room to the gold trimmed and cracked mirror that hung by my bedside. I couldn't believe my eyes when I viewed my reflection. The gown seemed to be made for me. It fit every curve of my body flawlessly. It seemed to mold itself to my 5'7" frame, and at the slightest move of my hips, the skirt appeared to sway about me as if a tolling bell. The collar "V-ed" down to mid-breast, clearly exposing too much cleavage for an afternoon gathering.

"However, I will not be appearing at an afternoon gathering, but an evening ball. The gown will be appropriate for tonight." I convinced myself. "I still look elegant and classy…reverent."

I continued to examine the gown as I fell in love with every thread of material. The shoulders bunched up forming luxuriant sleeves, which extended down my arms in tight velvet and came to a point as it reached my hands. This gown would have everyone's mouth ajar, I was sure of it – especially Ichabod's.

I lightly combed my thick hair, an ocean of waves, and pulled it up into a French Twist. The hairstyle was formal, yet only took a second to carry out. My dark hair, with natural red highlights, contrasted with my icy blue eyes, yet complimented the exquisite gown.

I added a few pieces of jewelry to my epitome – my mother's gold wedding band upon my right hand, black-stone earrings that accented my jaw-line, and a soft, black, velvet collar that seemed to tie the outfit together. I slipped each foot into a black slipper and wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. I studied my reflection one final time still trying to believe the image I was seeing. I didn't resemble myself at all. I appeared to be wealthy, white-collared, and born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Everything I was not. I wondered if Ichabod would recognize me? I shunned the thought that he wouldn't and left my deprived cottage on my high-horse – in my mind, a pure white, magnificent Paso Fiño, ornamented with expensive tack adorned with jewels and gems of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Darkness rolled in as soon as I arrived at the Van Dan mansion. The moon's dim glow cast eerie shadows that seemed to trail my every footstep. The chill in the night's air created goose bumps that raised from my flesh. I was more anxious about this party than I had ever been of anything else in my life. Not only that, but the thought of seeing Ichabod Crane was enough to make my stomach leap into my throat.

" I could just turn around and go back to my cabin…avoid all of this. It would be effortless, and I could claim that I was ailing and confined to bed," As tempting as the thought was, my legs kept on progressing nearer to the door.

I exhaled a deep breath, filled with shakiness and uncertainty. I unconsciously smoothed my gown and checked to ensure my hair was in place while listening to the faint bellows of music and laughter. Without another thought, I tapped the golden doorknocker, a small plate that read Van Dan. The calligraphic writing was the only detail that made the plate worthy of mentioning - the rolling knolls of each letter engraved to perfection… it was too late to turn around now.

It seemed to take an eternity before the door opened. Throughout my moment's wait, I could have sworn I felt the hair on my head gray, and my cheeks wilt with wrinkles. Anxiety, I supposed. The opener of the door was a butler, I presumed, in his late fifties. He wore a simple Sunday suit with a tailed coat. His hair was rather long, bowed to the base of his neck in a navy tie and resting on bridge of his nose was a pair of thin-framed bifocals. I acknowledged him as I stepped into the grand foyer, but he gave no response as if an only statue only guarding the entrance.

I stood in awe, as I gazed amongst whirling gowns, laughing faces, and cheerful musicians as they fiddled their tunes. As my presence became more apparent, stares fell down upon me accompanied by hushed whispers. Feeling embarrassed and uneasy, I hastily made my way towards the door before a light hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Excuse me, dear, but I must introduce myself. I am Mrs. Van Dan, the lady of this household. I welcome you to Sleepy Hollow, Miss?" her voice was welcoming and pleasant. She dressed in a satin, forest green gown, her hair loose in a tidy bun on the top of her head.

"Melanie Olsen," I stated my name and grinned.

"I welcome you to Sleepy Hollow, Miss Olsen. I do hope you are enjoying yourself? "

"Very much so," I lied. "But, actually I was just about to depart. I have some things I need to tend to," the dishonest words shot out of my mouth. How I wanted to say, "I am having the most dreadful time, and I wish to return to my rundown cottage and watch the fire die as I drift off into a lonesome slumber." But I wouldn't dare appear hostile in front of the lady of the house, or any person for that matter.

"Nonsense, my dear," and before I had an opportunity to object, she took my arm, and lead me through crowds of people. "I'll have to introduce you to my husband."

The night wore on, as I made many more introductions, acquaintances, and chatted and laughed humbly amongst other women. I had even shared the dance floor, dancing with gentleman, young and old, including what Mrs. Van Dan thought as "eligible suitors." Conversely, the only suitor that I thought "eligible," was Ichabod Crane. In fact, I had not seen Constable Crane all evening. Certainly, he was in attendance; he had to be. If he was not, I assumed he had a respectable reason. I couldn't dwell on the fact that he might not grace me with his presence, although I desperately wanted to see him again. He either was going to come, or he wasn't; plain and simple.

An hour later, I caught a glimpse of him near the entrance to the foyer. My heart felt as if it had wings - it's rhythmic beat throbbing so intensely, I was sure the entire room could hear it. He was dressed in black, similar to the prior day, and the silk, white scarf around his neck made him appear elegant and mystical. His black hair was combed and resembled a fine silk and his eyes danced as if just gazing upon him was worth more than life itself. Lifting my skirts, I scurried towards him, deliberately slowing my pace as I neared.

"Constable Crane, it's a fancy seeing you here," I spoke casually and he recognized me instantly which made my heart melt.

"Ah, I was wondering if you would attend. How are you this evening?" he asked with a sincere smile on his face.

"Quite well… and dry," I replied with a light chuckle. "And yourself?"

"Likewise. However, yesterday when we met, I do not recall learning your name."

What a goose I was! I couldn't believe after our encounter the prior day, I left without a proper introduction. Here I was thinking of this man all day and all night and yet, he did not know my name. Embarrassed, I blushed and felt as if I turned the same hue as my gown. "How thoughtless of me," I confessed. "I am Melanie Olsen."

"You look stunning… Melanie." He slightly bowed his head. Whether the compliment was out of courtesy or sincerity, stunning was stunning. I felt as if I was a giddy adolescent inexperienced to love, tenderness, and passion.

"Ichabod?" a sweet, melodious voice rang out. A woman walked to Ichabod's side and looked searchingly into those handsome eyes.

"Katrina, my dear," he reached out and tenderly grasped her hand, drawing her closer to him. "Melanie," he said to me with that voice that seemed so addictive. "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Katrina." She was a petite and attractive woman with a rounded face. Her blonde hair was slightly curled at the tips and fell carelessly over her indigo gown.

I felt the blood drain from my face, and my knees felt feeble, as if at any moment I would crumple to the floor. For a moment not a thought registered; I couldn't budge, talk, nor hear. All I could do was see… see Ichabod Crane with another woman. Not just any woman, either; his wife. My feelings were too deep for rage, sorrow, or envy. Within that moment, I was emotionless, seeing through my eyes, but not as myself.

"It's…it's… a pleasure," I strained to say. I forced my lips to form a smile. "Your…husband has been awfully kind to me," I said almost mindlessly. Husband. Husband… I couldn't believe that Ichabod has vowed this woman his heart, his love. Suddenly my emotions transformed into hatred – hatred for this woman who shattered my every last hope; shattered my heart into a million pathetic pieces. Hatred for myself for being so foolish to fall for a man I did not know, and having such feelings for a married man. There was no such thing as love at first sight… men are either worthless or married.

Finally, I could not stand looking at this woman any longer – her content smile made me on the verge of vomiting. "Mr. and Mrs. Crane…" Damn Mrs. Crane… "If you'll excuse me," I spoke as politely as I would allow myself, concealing my wrath, and by God, I was good at it. I began walking swiftly in the opposite direction, not seeking any place in particular. My mind filled with harsh thoughts and I desperately wanted to be rid of them; pry them from my mind.

"If only I could forget," I muttered to myself. "If only I could forget…" Abruptly, I was struck with a contemplation. "I can forget…and I will forget…"


	4. Devil's Drink

Comments

Pumpkinpuss – My dear friend, it's such an honor for you to be reading this piece once again. It seems that you can keep my head above all this emotional writing goop. I always look forward to your reviews. Your writing has inspired me and I can only hope I will honor the Constable as you have.

MJ – I am so glad you are reading this. Your reviews me so much to me. I hope you enjoy the rest. Glad you like it.

DI Friends – You guys are best. I am so pleased that you are reading this story. Please, let me know if you have any suggestions.

Thanks all! Now on with the story!

Devils Drink

"I'd like a whiskey, please," I requested from the bartender as I tossed a few coins on the counter. He nodded, retrieved the coins, and went wordlessly to fetch me my drink. A few moments later, a shot glass sat before me filled with sinister, auburn liquid. I gently picked up the glass and before putting it to my lips, I inhaled the unique aroma of the alcoholic beverage. "Here goes nothing," I thought to myself and I immediately poured the warm contents into my mouth. I could feel the whiskey pass through my throat; setting it ablaze, relieving my burdens.

As I asked for another drink, I noticed a disapproving stare from a gentleman next to me. His eyes were bitter and cold, as if he could see right through me. "Go to Hell," I sneered at him as I swigged my second drink. He grumbled something at me, meaningless words, slammed his fee onto the counter and departed the tavern.

The second drink turned into a third, and then a fourth. The fourth soon became the eighth. No longer did my taste buds demur the balmy, vigorous taste, nor loathe the cutting sensation as the snifter swathed my throat. Instead the whiskey served as my savior, my liberator. Salvaging me from reality and taking me to a world where nothing mattered.

I began to feel faint as the world revolved around and around me, as if I were its axis. The situation I found myself in was so hysterical I could not contain myself any longer and finally ruptured with laughter. I had fallen in love with a married man and upon learning the fact; I resorted to the devil's drink to wash my devastation away.

My fingertips ran across the smooth silk of the bottom of my coin purse as I searched for one last coin. Nothing. Cursing at myself, I gradually stood up. My legs wobbled and I relied on the barstool to steady myself. Little by little, I made my way to the entrance doors; wandering every which way, tripping over my own feet. I giggled frenziedly at myself, for I was in such a state I could scarcely walk. Sinuously, the giggles transformed into sobs; sobs because I could not forget…sobs of a broken heart. Emotions were departing my body like the teardrops were flowing from my eyes. I jostled the door open and staggered into the street. The warm night's air kissed my cheeks as perspiration formed in tiny droplets on my forehead. My stomach churned and roiled, my head twirled and twisted. The streets were foreign to me and my vision blurred, slowly converting every color, every hue, black. Alas, I could carry myself upright no longer. I sunk to the earth beneath me and everything went black.

My eyelids fluttered open as I drifted out of my deep slumber. My temple pounded unbearably and I massaged my head as I examined my surroundings in hope to relieve the pressure that felt like it would burst at any moment. I had utterly no idea where I was. From the looks of things, I resided in a small and vacant bedroom with aged wooden floors and walls that seemed to hold no emotion. There were no decors and no furnishings except the bed where I lay, a chest in the corner, and a splintered chair near the head of my bed. My eyes wandered back to the chest. Neatly draped over it was my mother's blood red gown, torn and soiled. I gasped at the sight of my cherished belonging, which was accompanied by a thrust of pain in my head. My mind was completely uncomprehending. How had I gotten here? And more importantly, where was here?

At that instant, the door squeaked open and a man walked in. At the sight of him, I sprung into a sitting position. The sudden movement caused a thousand knives to stab themselves into my temple, and a nauseating sensation cut my breath short. Rubbing my forehead, I delicately laid my head back into the feathered softness of the pillow. "Constable?" I moaned in pain and puzzlement, still massaging my head.

"None other, I am pleased to see that you are wakeful. Do you mind if I sit down?" He asked motioning to the chair.

"Not at all," I spoke with difficulty as the more I talked, the more intense my nausea became.

"How are you feeling this afternoon?" Ichabod gently inquired. "You have had some rather difficult days."

"Besides my head's horrendous throbbing, and my stomach's…" But before I could complete my sentence, my stomach could not repress itself any longer. I desperately wanted to contain myself, but that proved impossible. Ichabod, seeing my exertion, reached for the chamber pot that rested at the bedside, and got it to my mouth in moment's time. Violently, my stomach emptied itself into the lead tinted chamber, burning my esophagus with every suppress. With one free hand, Ichabod gathered my hair and held it away from my face as I finished vomiting. "T-T-Thank you," I muttered. My muscles scorched, and I and coughed in order to recuperate.

Ichabod was silent as he obtained a handkerchief from his vest pocket. I looked up at him, and bringing the handkerchief to my mouth, he delicately wiped my face, as if I were a sickly child dependent on his care. I wanted to object, for I was very well capable of caring for myself, but for some reason I did not.

Feeling better, I inhaled a breath that expanded my lungs. "What do you mean I've had some difficult days?" I asked, my voice still trembling from my prior episode."

"Well, today's Monday," he replied. "You've been latent for approximately two days." Baffled, I didn't answer him. "I'll go tend to this," he said motioning to the tainted chamber, a look of disgust on his face. "And I'll summon Katrina to fetch something for your head and stomach." I took one last gaze into the dark sea of his eyes before he rose to his feet and left me once again. I emitted a sigh, and let my eyelids fell carelessly shut.

I occupied a dark room, detained by four vast walls. There was not a window; not a beam light, except for a thin white ray that crept under the crack of an immense iron door. The walls seemed to enclose around my body and I desperately wanted to be free of its unnerving clutch. I pounded the door until my fists went numb; bleeding and bruised. I screamed and shrieked at the top of my lungs until my throat turned raw, yet not a sound rang out; there was only silence.

"Melanie?" A hand gently shook my shoulder. "Melanie?" My eyelids drifted open to gaze into the slate eyes of Katrina. "Drink this," she said holding a tin cup to my parched lips. "It will ease your pain." Eager for the pain in my head to cease, I gulped down the thick, tart liquid. I did not remember my bleak hatred for this woman until later - The hatred that made me resort to drinking. In fact, I could scarcely remember this woman at all. However, in a way, I knew who she was… she the _wife_ of Ichabod Crane, and in a way, I knew how much I loathed her.

"What… how… what happened?" I asked stumbling on my words after I finished the drink.

"After the festivity Ichabod and I found you unconscious in a ditch. Fearing the worse, we took you back to our abode, and well, here we are." Katrina explained. I tried to recall how I ended up unconscious in the ditch, but I vaguely remembered anything from that night – except I had a few drinks.

"I do hope that nightdress suits you?" Katrina continually questioned. I just stared at her, trying to resister what she had said. I then remembered my soiled gown draped over the chest and instantaneously examined my clothing. Replacing my gown was an ordinary manila nightdress.

"Oh, yes the nightdress suits just fine, thank you," I replied and politely grinned. "I cannot even find the words to describe my gratitude for your obliging services." These words were of sheer truth. I was eternally grateful to Katrina and Constable Crane, more than I could clarify. If they hadn't taken me under their wing… I recoiled from the thought of what could have become of me. "Furthermore, I do not like to burden others and feel I should return to my barrings as soon as possible," I said matter-of-factly. I wasn't entirely comfortable with depending on others for my care. I had been alone for three years and managed just fine in worse conditions than I was in now.

"As do I," Katrina agreed. "But now isn't possible. You need your rest and be in an environment where you can be constantly monitored. Your staying here is no burden to us."

"I appreciate your concern, but you and your husband have done so much for me already. I can assure you I am fine and quite capable of taking care of myself," I protested whilst preparing to depart the small bed's snug coverlet. "I'll just gather up my possessions and if you'll just show me out, I'll…" But I could not continue, for as quickly as I stood up, my head felt buoyant and my knees buckled as they could not support my weight. I fell back on to the bed.

"I insist," Katrina smiled. Heaving a great sigh, I laid back beneath the blankets. I was not going to return home today.

"I think I'll close my eyes for a little while," I mumbled. Katrina nodded in approval and left the room.

I awoke to the soft blush of sunlight tingling my cheek, as the evening's sunset cast through the small window. Groggily, I sat up and rubbed my eyes accustoming to the new tones of light. Running my fingers through a mass of oily hair, I realized I was feeling rather well. My stomach felt content and my head invigorated. I casually shook my head from side to side, inquisitively attempting to trigger a jolt of a massive headache. "If I knew what it was that Katrina gave me, I wouldn't question getting drunk as often," I whispered to myself, satisfied when not a twinge occurred.

I sat on the edge of the bed while I yawned and stretched. Using the bedpost for balance, I slowly stood up and my legs quivered as I began to support my weight on them.

A few moments later, I scuffled over to the small window and stood there admiring the view of the ethereal village which occupied persons of no individuality.

Realizing the evident, my mood dampened. I was an outcast – still a stranger to the place I had no choice but to call home. I seemed to attract eyes of cold and judgement, and no matter how hard I tried to assimilate, the expressions stayed consistent. Only Ichabod Crane, and I hated to admit it, but Katrina also, were the only ones who took to me with hospitality and liberalism. Granted, I had been acquainted with people who were most polite, but their eyes still held resentment and an unexplained gleam that made my skin crawl. Would I ever feel a sense of belonging here? A sense of importance?

"Oh stop it, Melanie. Just stop it," I told myself while turning from the window. "Stop being irrational and sympathetic. Go downstairs, find Katrina and tell her you are fit enough to return home. Or better yet, just find the door and leave. Katrina is not your mother. It is not her place to tell you what you can and cannot do." With the decision made, I opened the door and proceeded down an extensive hallway.

I glided down an oak staircase that led to what appeared to be a kitchen that opened up to a sitting room on the left. The house appeared to be empty, and I took a glimpse about the rooms searching for a door that might lead outside. The only one I noticed was at my right and I confidently walked toward it, placed my hand on the cold brass of the knob, and slowly opened the door. However, the setting sun and mauve sky did not greet my senses.


	5. Locking Hearts

CHAPTER FIVE

LOCKING HEARTS

Startled, Ichabod Crane glanced up from a table covered with instruments, gadgets, beakers, and other objects I could not identify.

"Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you. I was just about to make my departure," I quickly explained.

"You are of no disturbance," Ichabod assured me. "Do you still feel ill?"

"I've much improved," I said. "I apologize about earlier. I'm… I'm not normally like that." Ichabod stared at me baffled. "Well, I don't drink often. I just…I…"

" Of course, but you are in no need to explain yourself," Ichabod said softly and smiled. He seemed to understand to some degree the awkwardness and embarrassment I felt. His smile told me that everything was all right and I felt as if lightness swept over me.

"What is it that you doing?" I curiously asked. Ichabod walked from behind the steel table, with his hands behind his back.

"In order to detect the guilty, we must gather evidence; narrow down the suspected to one individual- confirming the suspect committed to the crime. The piece of evidence must be something that we all acquire, and yet all substantiallydifferent from every other. Shall I show you?"

"Yes, I'd like that," I answered eagerly. He led me over to the steel table, where many different assortments of liquids, experimental devices, and everyday objects such as candlesticks and dinner forks lay scattered about.

"May I see your hand?" he asked holding out his palm. I could hardly keep my hand from trembling as I gently laid my hand in his. He took my hand and carefully dipped the inside of my thumb in a small metal container filled with black ink. Hurriedly, he took my blacked thumb and firmly pressed it momentarily onto a piece of paper that rested by the ink container. When he gradually lifted my thumb from the paper, the result was a perfect thumbprint.

"observe," he said and handed me a cloth and repeated the process with his own thumb, until an exact replica of his thumbprint accompanied mine on the paper. I attempted to wipe the excess ink from my thumb, but had little success. "At first glance the two prints appear identical. But if you look closer, you notice they are completely different." Ichabod continued and put a magnifying glass to the paper. "See how the rings on your print are closer together, and mine spread further apart? And here, the inner ring on mine is longer than the one on yours?" I nodded, comparing the two prints. "No two prints are exactly the same. They resemble signatures; each one slightly or totally different from the next. Fingerprints like…" But for some reason he stopped and looked up from the table straight into my eyes.

All time seized as his dark, secretive eyes danced and locked with mine; filled with anticipation and apprehension. An inexplicable force drew me nearer to him until I could feel the softness of his breath brush across my cheek. My heart began to pump more rapidly then ever, as if at any moment it would burst from the captivity of my chest. In the next instant, his mouth was hard against mine enveloping my lips in the tenderness of his kiss. I kissed him back with fire and passion not thinking of anything except the intensity of the moment – everything else in the world vanished, leaving Ichabod and I in the depths of a kiss that made all the world seem worthless.

He slowly pulled his lips from mine, leaving me with my eyes shut and a smile of complete bliss painted my face. "Melanie, I cannot consent to this," he whispered in my ear. I gradually opened my eyes as he affectionately took my hands in his. They were quivering.

"I cannot… I can't do this." He said unsteadily. I looked down at my bare feet desperately attempting to hold back the tears that wanted to erupt from my eyes. I knew what he was going to tell me, I knew every word. "Look at me, Melanie," he put a finger under my chin and raised my head until our eyes met. "You know as well I as I do, that we can't do this. It's wicked, and, and I vowed my heart to Katrina. You understand, don't you?" he asked me with searching eyes.

I gravely nodded my head. "But how can something be so wrong, if it seems so right?" I asked tears accumulating at the corners of my eyes.

"You have no idea," he answered in a murmur, as if not only answering my query, but answering himself as well.

Neither one of us spoke for several seconds. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall. I inhaled deeply as I collected my thoughts. "I think it best if I were to leave," I finally said. Ichabod did not speak, but only nodded his head in agreement.

With one last gaze into his dark eyes, I turned around to depart.

"Melanie," he said as I opened the door. I turned to look at him. "Take this," he took a lengthy and heavy black coat from a hook that hung by the door and draped the it from my shoulders. "It's cold out." I turned my head and stared into his face, but his eyes told me not to speak.


	6. A Quick Stitch

Chapter 6

A Quick Stitch

It was nearly dark when I arrived at my cabin, and fog and murkiness had settled low into the village. I went about my household tasks in a daze, avoiding all thought and comprehension of the day's prior affairs; I couldn't cope with it - not now. I prepared myself something to eat, but the sweet aromas did not phase me, and discovering I had no appetite, threw it out.

I glanced around my cabin in despair, and in some way, was taking a candid prospect at my life. I was living in a shack with walls that could hardly support its ceiling in the bleak and desolate community of Sleepy Hollow. I had not a soul; kith nor kin. Not a lover to fulfill my desires. I had no one. I was alone. Now that I thought about it, I didn't even know why I had come to Sleepy Hollow in the first place. Perhaps it was of adventure. Perhaps I was searching for something that I would never find. Maybe I was running from something. I did not know.

My eyes stopped when they wandered upon the cracked mirror by my bedside. I observed my dejected reflection and upon doing so, realized I was still wearing that horrid nightdress of Katrina's. Ichabod's Katrina. The adorable lace and bow was enough to impel insanity, and finally I could endure no more. Rage exploded from my body like magma from a volcano. I seized my ivory comb from the bed stand and hurled at the mirror with such force that sent me to my knees. The mirror shattered and glass surged everywhere. Ripping the nightdress from my head, I flung it across the room and collapsed to the floor in a quivering ball, tears of rejection falling from my eyes until I could not see.

The walls were closer now, and my breaths left my body in deep and rapid rasps. The room was darker, and the light that crept under the vast door I leaned against, brighter. I screamed and cried, but still sound was nonexistent. I slid down the cold door in exhaustion and frustration of failure, and my hand grazed over some type of engravement in the center. I could not see the design that was present, but my fingers depicted an eight-pointed star with symmetrical curvature of each point. The figure resembled a compass rose, indicating that there was no guaranteed direction to pursue, no distinct path to follow.

How long I laid there, I wasn't sure. When I opened my eyes, the fire had died out and the slight grayness of dawn appeared in the east. I gradually rose to my knees and drug myself to my bed. Ichabod's coat lay discarded on top of my pillow, and I embraced it securely against my body, inhaling his masculine scent that was present when we kissed. It was only then I could sleep.

My eyes were red and nearly swollen shut when I awoke about midmorning. Strands of hair were plastered against my tear-streaked cheeks and for an instant I thought that yesterday was only a dream, a nightmare, but the nightdress thrown in the corner proved me mistaken. Slipping on my worn navy common-day dress, my mind wandered aimlessly through yesterday's happenings. Ichabod had kissed me, a passionate kiss that left me standing on the tips of my toes. Then he had rejected me, even though I knew he had wanted me.

Everything happened so fast that I could now only recall a blur. Flustered and confused, I decided to venture down to the river. The walk would do me good, cool me down, and even a swim might be of benefit.

As I stepped out into the sunlight and shut the cabin door behind me, I noticed not a bird was chirping, not a breeze rustled through the leaves of the apples trees; not a being stirred. The day's heat was approaching as fast and the contrast between yesterday's ambiance and today's seemed aberrant. I walked along the indistinct path until I arrived at the river and the rushing current was soothing to my ears. Stripping my clothes and laying them tidily on a boulder resting on the bank, I waded into the cool waters. The liquid numbed my feet, and bearing all, I dove under the sweeping current, enveloping my body with icy needles. Somehow the sensation was rather enjoyable as I emerged at the surface gaping for air to expand my lungs before disappearing beneath the fervent waves. I could never remember learning to swim, I just always knew how. Swimming was one of the few things that soothed and relaxed me, no matter the situation. It gave me a chance to escape reality and focus on something other than my troubles or life itself.

I let the current carry me downstream for a little while, and when I tired, I sat in a state of tranquility upon the boulder letting the sun dry my skin. Changing back into my frayed dress, I wandered back to my cottage in a new sense of contentment and revivify.

When my cabin came into view, I noticed something was resting in front of the door. Curiously, I quickened my pace anxious to see what the mysterious object was. As I neared, I could make out the velvet of my mother's blood red gown. Picking it up and unfolding it for inspection, I observed that the gown was not longer torn and soiled, but it had been efficiently darned in places that were considered necessary, and had been laundered so the gown seemed like new. Before I had the opportunity to ponder about whom had preformed such a charitable task, a note fluttered from the folds of the velvet, landing at my feet. Picking it up it read:

_Melanie,_

_You had forgotten this when you left in such a hurry and I thought you might have wanted it returned. I've thought of nothing but seeing you again. If you consent to it, please meet me at the stables at dawn._

_Ichabod _

I read the note over and over again, as if making sure every word was existent. A New Hope appeared a discovery of a star within my reach. There were no metaphors that could describe the feelings I felt at this moment.

I rushed into my cabin, a sensation of fervor propelled through every bone in my body. Tucking the gown into my trunk, I began to straighten up my muddled cottage. In the state of depression I had entranced, I did not take notice of chaotic condition that my living quarters was in.

The gleaming pieces of glass from the mirror were discarded, the bed made, floor swept, and the diminutive amount of furnishings that occupied the room dusted. Coming upon the nightdress abandoned in the corner, I paused, and slowly picked it up keeping as far from it as possible like it bore an infectious disease.

The oranges, reds, and yellows of the dancing flames of the fire caught my eye. For a brief instant, I thought of burning the dress; watching the destructive force demolish the garment of flawlessness. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, the dress was shoved into the far corner under my bed, where it would lay forgotten in the midst of passing time.

Hours passed in what seemed like only minutes. The sun had disappeared behind the rolling hills of the countryside and the fire's warm glow shed an imperial light amongst my cabin. Every corner, every inch of the little cottage was spotless and for once I did not look about it in disgust. Although I was not residing in silks and furs, I took a dignity in what I had accomplished.

After I consumed my meal, a simple croissant with raspberry jam, I crawled under the welcoming covers of my bed. I was physically exhausted, and yet my mind was racing. I couldn't stop thinking about the note Ichabod had written me, and picking up the cherished paper from the bed stand, my eyes danced over every letter. It was all there, every word. Ichabod wanted to see me again. I clutched the note to my breast and exhaled a long sigh, snuggling into the deep depths of rapture. I could hardly keep my eyes shut and let sleep grasp me, but when it did, I had a smile of pure contentment across my face.


	7. Confessions

Icy and clear air filled my lungs as I walked along the vacant road that led to the stables. The light gray of early dawn was present and everything seemed so lifeless, so serene. Houses seemed empty as their occupants were still captivated by sweet dreams of sleep. I could scarcely make out the tattered roof and weatherworn siding of the stable as I neared. At first sight, the building could have been mistaken for abandoned, as did many structures in Sleepy Hollow, but the soft snorts and neighs of horses proved different and was most welcoming.

As I rounded the bend, I saw Ichabod in the process of saddling a beautiful mare, whose coat, hinting at shagginess in preparation of the colder season, resembled the tint of a well traveled copper penny. Ichabod's own mount, the grullo gelding, stood patiently next to him, tediously chewing on the bit that rested between his teeth. My heart skipped a beat and my skin tingled when my eyes rested upon him. I had never felt like this when in the presence of a man, a sense of anxiety and giddiness. And Ichabod Crane had revealed feelings deep within me; feelings I never knew existed.

When he noticed me, he smiled his charming little grin that could make any woman's knees buckle. "Melanie," He spoke softly so I could hardly hear my name as he led the two horses over to where I was standing. He slipped the black leather reins of the mare's bridle into my hand and mounted his horse distributing his weight in the seat of the saddle and the balls of his toes that rested in the stirrups. I did the same, and arranged my cloak so that it hung smoothly over the horse's muscular hindquarters.

We rode stealthily through the streets toward the outward brake in the west, and somehow we could not speak, as if a single word were equivalent to a gunshot and would disrupt the uncanny silence of the village.

The little town was now only a small cluster of buildings and houses and I wished Ichabod would say something, anything, as the awkwardness that hung in the atmosphere was unbearable. I gazed over at Ichabod who looked straight ahead, his eyes showing no emotion or hinting at a thought that occupied his mind. He was dressed in similar black attire that he had worn the last time we encountered, that moment when a kiss created throbbing pulses, and yawning desires.

My eyes wandered down to his hips that rolled back and forth in rhythm with his horse's lively gait. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if… but I blocked the thought from my mind. He was married, whether happily, I did not know, but that was irrelevant. But perhaps the reason why I wanted him so badly was because he was taboo, forbidden because he shared his bed with another woman.

It took every ounce of self-control that I could muster to keep from screaming. The silence buried itself within the hollows of my bones and after what seemed to last for an eternity, he finally spoke.

"I want to apologize in regards to the other day," he began unsteadily, as if he did not know what to say. I startled slightly at the instant sound, but Ichabod's voice alone did anything but make me edgy, and I found myself thinking how easy it would be to fall asleep to the melodious tone, like an infant drifts asleep to its mother's humming.

"I should have controlled myself, or at least thought rationally before I made such rash actions," he continued. I almost forgot to breathe as reality unfolded before me. I knew what Ichabod was about to tell me; that the kiss we shared was meaningless and only a moment of foolishness. And that it would prove best if we pretended that it had never occurred and avoid each other in even the slightest sense of intimacy. I bit my lower lip until it turned white, preparing for words that would bite and sting open wounds.

"But that would have proved impossible," he whispered so soft, I questioned what I thought I heard. I stared up at him in disbelief and confusion, but his expression told me I was not mistaken.

"What does that mean?" I asked prying for the answers of questions that deemed no correct response.

"It means," He paused and took a breath, composing himself as words he were about to speak stung the back of his throat. "It means you have stolen a piece of my heart. My heart, of which, does not belong to me, but to the innocence of my wife. And no matter how many times I deny it, I cannot, and it has driven me to the point of madness."

"Then don't deny it," I whispered, adjusting the reins in my hands. "I didn't."

"It's not that simple, Melanie. I am married. Married to a beautiful wife who loves me, and I can't do anything to hurt her. One day you'll understand."

"If only things were different," I swallowed back tears that brimmed my eyes.

"But they are not. My life is full of complications as it is, and I… I don't need this right now."

I gravely nodded my head. How much I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere and elude the truth that hung so death like in the air. Silence. No birds, no rustling of leaves from the hooves of the horses. Nothing, except the silence screaming into the haunting trees that chilled the bones on even the warmest of days. "You're not from these parts are you?" I asked desperately changing the subject. He stared at me in confusion at the sudden change of conversation. "No," he finally replied. "I grew up in Brooklyn."

"What brought you to Sleepy Hollow?"

"Murder," he said quickly. "I was sent here to investigate the murders…"

Of course I didn't need to question the murders for which he was sent, not now anyway. "And you met Katrina," I finished his sentence.

"Yes," he looked at me and smiled. I could tell by the sincerity of his expression that he cared for the woman he called his wife, and no matter how many grievances it laid upon my shoulders, I knew I must respect and honor that. "Shortly after the tragedy ended, we returned to New York where we wed," he continued. We stayed there for about six months, but Katrina didn't adjust, could never call the city home, so we returned back here."

"What about you? When did you feel a sense of belonging here; in this community?"

"You'll never feel like you belong here. I will never, and neither will you," he spoke the harsh truth that sent chills down my spine. "Not with the kind of people here. All you can do in learn to accept things for what they are and hope the same of others. That's where we're alike, you and I, we're both outsiders in this godforsaken town." He looked at me with understanding eyes and I felt relived and happy and so many other feelings I couldn't find words to describe. Warmth came over me and a genuine smile spread across my lips. Finally someone who felt as out of place here as I. Finally someone who understood the loneliness I felt. For once in my life I was not alone and that feeling was worth so much.

Suddenly I remembered the harsh truth and my happiness turned to ice and bitterness. My smile was swept from my face as quickly as it came. No he didn't understand the loneliness that occupied my pining heart. He was married. Married. At least he had… but as naive as I was, I knew that marriage didn't mean satisfaction.

"Now that you've heard my life story, what about yours?" he asked interrupting my thoughts. It took me a moment to comprehend the features of our conversation.

"Well, I wouldn't consider what you just told me a grand life story, but there's really nothing to say," I explained burying my prior thoughts in the back of my mind. "My parents died when I was younger, and ever since I've lived a nomadic lifestyle."

"Why Sleepy Hollow?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "I've been trying to figure that out myself."

"Interesting," he muttered softly. "And what of your kin?"

"I don't have any, not that I know of anyway. There must be some people out there in which my blood flows, but after my mother died, my father was never quite right…"

"Not quite right?"

"Not himself, mentally unstable." I continued. "I was raised mainly by the many nurses who cared for him and many a time was passed from neighbor to neighbor when times where hard, until I could fend for myself, that is. So, as you can see, it was of no great consequence when my father passed on."

"I see," Ichabod replied pondering on what I had just told him, as if trying to place himself in the shoes of a little girl who had never had the comforting arms of a father to sooth and calm her fears. Little did I know, the shielding embraces from a father were absent from his life as well.

I told him the heartrending epic that was my childhood, and blood drained from my face and goose bumps erupted from my skin as Ichabod retold the horrors of his upbringing by a bible-back father who murdered his mother in an act of punishing her innocence. Pain and anguish was apparent on his face and his eyes were distant, yet a small flame of fury seemed to glow brighter. I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him, comfort him; show him that I understood how he felt, because I truly did.

Throughout my life, I had always felt there was a missing part of me, a hole growing bigger, gnawing at my insides with a constant cavernous pain. No attempt of reliving this pain proved successful, and soon, I simply gave up. Now, however, I had the sensation that Constable Ichabod Crane could fill that vast emptiness within me.

We rode in silence for awhile, each consumed in our own thoughts, not noticing the sun sail westward in the cloudless sky and Sleepy Hollow wasn't more than a speck occupying the small valley below us.

"Why did you want to see me again?" I asked one of the questions that had dominated my mind. "I know it amounts to more than just returning the dress, even though I thank you for it." I said realizing I had been rude as to not to commend him on mending and returning the dark crimson gown.

"I don't know," wrinkles of concentration decorated his brow. "It seemed so right at the moment, but now I'm not so certain… of anything."

"And you used to be so certain of everything?"

He did not answer me. Instead he turned a deathly white, his lips purple and sheer terror filled his eyes that were locked so painfully with something straight ahead.

"Ichabod?" I asked shakily, my voice barely a whisper. I slowly turned my head, preparing to look into the valley of death. For a moment, my heart stopped as my eyes gazed upon the miraculous ethereal tree that rooted itself deep into the soil of the legendary Western Woods. The bark, russet and auburn, irregular in pattern twisted up into think leafless branches. The tree appeared to be dead, and yet something inside me told me it was very much alive. The tree seemed so out of place, surrounded by numerous maple trees, their crowns bursting with luscious greens. So out-of-place, so diverse, so incongruous like me. Like Ichabod. And yet this tree held a dark beauty that seemed surreal, only existing in fairy tales. An unidentifiable beauty that drew my eyes to its trunk, like fresh blood lures carnivorous cats.

"We must leave this place," Ichabod said harshly. His horse snorted and pranced nervously. "Now!" Without giving me a chance to question why, he spun his horse around and galloped into the thick forest, weaving his horse between trees and other obstacles. Hastily, my horse sprinted after him, and I concentrated on maneuvering around branches as we picked up vast speeds, kicking up dust from the ground. I pondered on why Ichabod had wanted to leave the site so quickly. He was scared, that was obvious, but why? There were so many secrets that lay in the depths of the small farming community of Sleepy Hollow, so many secrets I wanted to uncover.

We returned to the stable in what seemed like minutes. The sun shone from the horses' coats, glossy with the sweat that was bucketing from their pores. A white lather had accumulated around their eyes, which were warped with exhaustion. Two pairs of nostrils flared pink with each rapid breath they took into their lungs.

A flame of fear still hinted Ichabod's eyes as we untacked the horses and the color had yet returned to his cheeks. I noticed a slight tremble to his hand as he slipped the girth from the gelding's belly. Not a word was spoken while we lead the horses at a slow walk until the sweat dried in clumps on their backs. My mind was searching for answers as I kept my eyes focused on my feet, moving in tempo with the slight shuffle of the four hooves next to me.

The mare relaxed as I returned her to her stall, and spotted Ichabod hauling two water pails out to the stable's well. I jogged over toward him as he began to let the cool liquid fill the soft wood container. "Why did you leave in such a hurry? You looked like you had come from the grave."

"You ask too many questions," he didn't move his eyes from the filling bucket.

"You have a lot to explain, and besides you're the constable," I reminded him.

"Was," he looked at me with cold, sharp eyes that made me take a step back. Even more explaining on his part, I thought, but didn't press this new matter. I'd do it later. As for now, I wanted to know what had sent him running.

"I deserve an answer," I demanded. "You can't take off like that and expect me to think everything is alright."

He lifted the sloshing bucket from the well peg and replaced it with the empty one. "I don't expect anything of you."

"I beg pardon, but…"

"The past is past, Melanie. Please don't unearth things that took so long to bury." His voice was soft with his interruption, eyes almost pleading. Heaving a bucket in each hand, he sauntered back to the stable, and I stood there, my eyes following his every step, as I let his words sink beneath my skin.

I briskly followed him after he disappeared in the opening of the barn. But as I peered down the long isle, I was puzzled that the stable was empty, save for the horses munching contently on their hay. I traveled down the isle and peered into the stalls of the grullo gelding and the copper mare. In each one, a wooden pail occupied the far corner brimming with fresh water.

Looking out the far opening of the barn, I saw Ichabod, hands in his pockets and head down, heading in the direction of his home. For a brief instant, I thought of following him, and confronting him with my many questions, but he had made clear he didn't want to discuss them. Therefore, I came to the conclusion that if he didn't want to help me, I'd find the answers myself.


	8. One Person To Turn To

CHAPTER 8

ONE PERSON TO TURN TO

Dark shadows flickered across the soft pages filled with poetry of love and beauty, as I rested snuggly in the creaky rocking chair near the fireplace. The crackling of the waltzing flames was calming as I tried to keep focus on the sweet words of my book. However, I was preoccupied with another thought, something more important than the sonnets of Shakespeare.

What had frightened Ichabod so badly? The question would not leave my mind for the past two days. Even while I slept, images of Ichabod's ghastly face haunted my every thought. The tree was different, spooky even, but not enough to scare, especially to send a man fleeing. There was something that Ichabod wasn't telling me, and he either flatly refused to answer my queries or he simply danced around the subject. But why? I pondered on the question until a sharp throbbing developed between my temples, and then the throbbing progressed into a rapid pounding, like fists colliding with wood. "Rent!" Mr. Rexroth's low voice roared through the quiet night's air. Startled, I dropped the book to the ground with a thud. I had completely forgot today was the thirtieth, the day my landlord came to collect rent.

"Just a moment!" I scurried across the room to a cupboard and pulled out a cloth bundle. I unwrapped the folds and cursed myself when I only uncovered two gold coins.

"Miss Olsen!" impatience screamed in his voice. Looking anxiously at the coins in my hands, I rushed to the door and opened it. Mr. Rexroth nudged himself through the crack and waited with an open palm for the money I did not have. He stood two inches taller than I, had a pudgy face with busy brows and an oversized nose. His thickening waistline was apparent even beneath his shabby brown coat.

"Mr. Rexroth," I began, but he interrupted me.

"Where's the money?"

"I don't…I…well…this is all I have," I said placing the two coins into the palm of his hand. Staring at the couple measly golds in his hand, his face reddened with fury. "But I'll have all the rent next month. If you'll just give me some time, I'll…" I pleaded, not giving him a chance to speak. "Please, Mr. Rexroth…"

"This is the song I heard from you last month," he ran his callused fingers over the coins, and examined the mint design as if he had never seen the type of currency before.

"I'm aware of that, but as you know times are hard, and, and if you'll just give me a few more weeks, I promise…"

He gently pushed the door shut, and I could faintly hear the click of the latch over the slow taps of his heels as he walked behind me. "You promise what?"

I took a deep breath. Mr. Rexroth's presence made me feel uncomfortable and the cottage, which was once warm and homely, now felt cold and drafty. I shivered. "I promise I'll pay every cent I owe you."

He clicked his tongue. "That will not do, but…" he gently brushed his fingers over my shoulders and effortlessly unfastened the button at the neck of my dress. "…Perhaps we could negotiate a payment of another kind," he whispered harshly in my ear. His breath smelled of booze and tabacco.

I forgot to breathe and gritted my teeth as his hand slid through the slit of my dress. His hand felt like a poisonous cobra with fangs of lethal venom as he grazed the small of my back. Finally, I could bear it no longer. "Wretch!" I shouted in a voice I didn't recognize as my own. I spun around sharply and my open palm collided with his cheek.

Ferocity exploded from the black of his eyes as he grasped my wrist and wrenched it back. The pain almost sending me to my knees, but instead sent me staggering back into the wall.

"I'll tame you, Bitch!" he yelled, tearing at my dress. I tried to hit him again, but my attempts were worthless and only resulted in a brutal blow to my face, and other countless strikes that rippled through every bone in my body. My cheekbone shattered into a thousand pieces and I shrieked as I crumpled to the floor. Rage and pain filled my every vein and I eyed the door that seemed so far from where I lay, the door that was my only way out.

I leaped to my feet and dashed for the door, knocking over a chair and various other objects behind me, hoping to stall my attacker. My fingers fumbled with the latch, blood stinging my eyes and finally I flung it open, cool air splashing my face. I ran out into the moonlight that guided my aimless trail. I didn't know where I was going, where I was headed, or if Mr. Rexroth was pursuing after me, but I didn't dare stop to find out.

I ran until the muscles in my legs burned, and the bottoms of my feet went numb. My eyes caught a glimpse of a dark shadowed area produced by the extreme angle where a two-story house and barn came together. I pushed one final sprint to my dark retreat and when I was certain I was hidden by the deep shadows, I panted heavily and examined my surroundings for any sign of another person, or Rexroth, the demon himself. I was alone. The left side of my cheek felt ten times its normal size and my eye was swollen shut. The pain throbbed with every beat of my pulse and I felt the dried blood stunk in my hair.

Reality sunk into my flesh; I had no money, no where to go, no one whose arms would comfort me, and hold me, and tend to my wounds. I was so insecure that I shook with every breath inhaled into my lungs. I was so terrified, so scared, and how I longed for the warm embrace of a loving body and cooing words that would let me know everything would be alright. And yet I was alone; utterly alone. What would I do? Where would I go? I smothered his face from my mind, but it kept reappearing. Was he the only hope I had? I could just wait here, I thought. But for what? Wait to live, wait to die? He was only one I could rely on, the only one I knew who to turn to.


	9. By Your Side

CHAPTER 9

BY YOUR SIDE

"Ichabod!" tears streamed down my cheek and I flung myself in his arms the moment he opened his door. His presence relieved so much and I felt on the verge of an emotional explosion.

"Melanie," he grasped my hair in his hand and rested his chin on the crown of my head. "Jesus, Melanie." He muttered rocking me gently. He led me inside and to the sitting room where he motioned for me to sit on a long davenport that rested against the wall. "My God, what happened?" he asked when he saw a better look of me in the light. I choked on my words and before I could get a complete, comprehendible sentence out of my mouth, he put a finger to my lips. "Shhh… you can tell me later, let us get you cleaned up first." I nodded, and he left for an instant and returned with a wash basin and a cloth.

"I should fetch the doctor," he said setting the basin on the end table and gently sitting down next to me. "No," I argued. "Really, there's no need for a doctor." I struggled to get the words confidently out of my mouth.

"You're certain?"

"Yes." I forced a smile on my lips, which caused my head to erupt with pain. Ichabod didn't say anything, but gently pulled my hair back from my face and began to wipe the blood from the gaping wound. I gasped as the cool water stung the raw flesh. "Sorry, but this will probably be quite painful," he warned and I bit my lower lip in anticipation as the cloth returned to the lesion. A few minutes later he spoke. "Your cheekbone is definitely broken. It will be bruised and swollen for a few days, but it's a clean break so it should heal quite normally." Next he examined my wrist and came to the conclusion that wasn't broken, but badly sprained.

He wrung out the cloth over the basin and when his eyes turned back to me, shock was apparent in his features and he muttered something to himself. "Melanie, your…your dress is practically in shreds, and…and My God…" he curved his fingers and brought them to my neck imitating to scratch me. "Why those are from fingernails!"

He then noticed the unfastened button on the back of my dress. He brought his hand to it and paused, looking into my eyes. "May I?" he softly asked. I nodded my head and he carefully slid what was left of my dress from my body, leaving me clad only in my summer camisole.

"Mary Mother of God," he quickly breathed as he rose to his feet. "Melanie, Love, who did this to you?" he demanded as he gazed upon the yellow and black bruises that splotched my arms, neck, and chest.

"Rexroth. William Rexroth, my landlord," I answered with an airy whisper. Many more bruises also ascended my legs and thighs. A look of horror filled his eyes. "Did he?" he whispered and gulped in anticipation.

"No," I shook my head.

"Bastard," Ichabod muttered. "I'm starting to revise my decision about you seeing the doctor. I think it would be wise for him to examine you."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Really I am. I've been better, yes, but all I need is a good night's sleep and I'll be fit for another day."

"If you insist," he sighed. "But you're to be staying here tonight. I'll be damned if you returned to that shack again." I didn't disagree with him.

Walking over to where I was sitting, he bent down and lifted me into his arms. I hadn't the strength nor will to object. I felt his strength beneath me as he carried me upstairs, my head resting on his shoulder breathing in his reassuring masculine scent. In Ichabod's arms I knew I was loved. I knew I was safe.

Ichabod gently laid me on the bed in the all too familiar room I had occupied previously. He lighted the lamp on the desk and a faint flicker of desire filled my heart as the soft line of light accented his shadowy figure. He was dressed in black pants with equally black unlaced, knee-high riding boots, and a loose white shirt that hung half open barely hinting at he soft skin of his chest. His dark hair was tousled and appeared to be the only untamed feature about him. No doubt I had awoken him with my urgent banging at his door.

He picked up the wooden chair near the window of the room and placed it by the head of my bed. He sat down and taking my hand, he leaned forward and whispered "Sweet dreams, Melanie." I could feel his breath against my ear and slowly drifted into a content and deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that Ichabod himself dozed in the chair, still holding my hand.


	10. Mrs Crane

CHAPTER 10

MRS. CRANE

"What do you mean you can't press charges?" I awoke to the bellow of Ichabod's raised voice coming from downstairs. He was obviously in the deep wrath of an argument with someone, but whom?

"I mean we don't have enough substantial evidence to assure that he committed the crime." The voice was low and unfamiliar to my ears.

"Not enough substantial evidence?" Ichabod yelled in disbelief. "Good God, Man!" His voice lowered and I could barely make out his words. "There is a woman upstairs who could hardly walk last night because she was beaten so badly. First New York prosecuted worthless crimes, and now you, sir, won't press charges when a blind man could see this woman almost walked the grave? Please sir, have some compassion."

The other man let out a deep congested sigh. "Well I suppose I could take a quick look at her."

I shut my eye when I heard the muffled footsteps of the two men as they ascended the stairs and walked down the hall. The door creaked open and the men entered. "Melanie?" Ichabod picked up my hand and gently rubbed it. I opened my eye in response. "Melanie, this is Officer Baldwin. He's come to look at you." He stepped aside, and Officer Baldwin; a roughish man with a thick beard took a step closer. "Can you see what I was talking about?" Ichabod questioned.

Baldwin grunted, "and what did the doctor say?"

"She took some hard blows, but she'll be fine. No permanent damage." Ichabod spoke as if he were reading from a book.

"Doctor?" I asked in a soft murmur. "I thought a doctor wasn't necessary."

"Possibly so, but I could not rest until I was certain you were well… those words coming from the mouth of a professional." Ichabod stated. If I were in any other condition, I would have protested Ichabod's act of misdemeanor, as he was not my father nor my… my husband. Instead I sighed, but my sigh transformed into a pathetic moan. The left side of my face was swollen to the possible extent and every muscle, every bone in my body screamed with aches and pains.

Officer Baldwin cleared his throat. "May I see you out side, Constable?" Ichabod nodded his head, and together they left the room, leaving me to my thoughts.

When Ichabod returned, I had raised myself into a sitting position. I was feeling more awake and alert and grinned when Ichabod brought the wash basin and set it down on the desk. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Much better." I replied. "What did Officer Baldwin say?"

Lines wrinkled on his forehead and he let his shoulders sag. "He can't press charges. Mr. Rexroth has an alibi that says he was at the Tavern last night and Dirk Miller witnesses to it."

"Lying Bastards," I grumbled under my breath.

"My words exactly."

"But why would Jonathan Miller lie and say Rexroth was at the Tavern? I don't think he holds anything against me. Why, I haven't done a thing to him, or anyone else in this town." I declared. "I've only been here a few months, and, and…"

"It's possible Rexroth was at the tavern before he visited you," Ichabod explained. "You said he was intoxicated when he attacked you."

"He wasn't exactly sober," I thought back to when I could smell the whiskey on his breath. A nauseating sensation came over me just at the thought.

"And he's in all probability black-mailing Mr. Miller so he seconds anything he says."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing, I suppose. There really isn't anything I can do. And besides you're safe now and that is all that matters," He said walking to the door. "I have some other matters to tend to, so please, make yourself at home, and Katrina is up and about if you need anything at all."

I nodded and he left me once again. I crawled out of bed and staggered over to the wash basin. Every muscle I had, and even some I never knew existed, shrieked as I flexed them. The cool water was reviving as I washed my face and gently cleansed the wound on my cheek. The left of my face was extremely tender, and my eye still swollen shut. I could just imagine the bright hues of yellows, purples, blues, and blacks that decorated the deformity of my face. Running the cloth lightly down my neck, I realized that I was only dressed in my camisole. Snatching one of the blankets from the bed, I bound the warm wool around my shoulders and departed the room.

Descending the stairs slowly and stiffly, I spotted Katrina in the kitchen chopping vegetables. She lifted her gaze from her work and smiled at me when she noticed my presence. "Melanie, you're feeling better?"

"Yes," I slightly grinned. "Just a little sore, that's all."

"I can only imagine," Katrina shook her head. "Can I get you something to wear… perhaps a little more comfortable?" she asked noticing I only wore a camisole and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

My mind flashed back to Katrina's nightdress crammed in the far corner underneath my bed. "Thank you for your generous offer, but that won't be necessary," I said quickly, not wanting to debt myself anymore than I had to. The truth of the matter though, was that I would have loved to don into something a little more decent than a worn undergarment, but I would find myself taking too much of an advantage over Katrina's charitable hospitality. "Actually, I had hoped to brew myself a cup of tea," I said looking around.

"Oh, of course," Katrina sweetly said. "Water is already set to boil in the kettle over there…" she pointed to a large kettle resting on top of a cast iron stove, "and here is the most delicious chamomile," she handed me a small bag from a cupboard filled with rich, dark herbs. "The best you can find."

Katrina placed a cup and saucer of blue china on the counter as I retrieved the water from the stove. "You don't like here, do you?" she asked so suddenly, so coldly, I almost dropped the kettle.

"Of course I like here," I flashed a stern grin and looked around the unusually large kitchen. The wooden floor was polished so that I could easily see my reflection in it, and it extended into walls of a dark green. Random paintings hung from the walls, and gold and silver decors were scattered about on hall tables and clustered in corners. A cast iron stove occupied a corner of the kitchen, surround by counters and cupboards of wood that matched the flooring. In the center of it all was a huge fireplace, the fire blazing, contained only by a hearth and mantle that stood taller than I was. "Your house is most beautiful," I said slowly lost in the profound enchantment of the place Ichabod and Katrina called home. If only she knew, I thought, of what I had lived in. In my eyes, this was more exquisite that the palaces of royalty itself.

"I meant Sleepy Hollow," Katrina said simply, pulling my mind back to reality.

My eyes were full of sarcasm and a loath so deep; I could hardly recognize it. "What's not to like?" I said, pouring the water into the small cup, using only one hand, as my right wrist stabbed with pain every time I tried to use it.

"Everything, at first," she spoke softly. "The people, the ways in which the town is run. New people never last long here; not more than a few months, a year at the most."

I stopped stirring my tea and set the spoon on the saucer. "What are you so boldly suggesting?"

Katrina was taken aback. "Not anything like that. I didn't mean it that way. It's just when I went to New York, I discovered a whole different world, completely different from the reserved contradictions of this small community."

"And it's that different world that so many of us try to escape from, and yet they're all the same. So if you think I'm just going to pack up my bags and leave because of something I've faced my whole life, then you're going to be highly disappointed." These words were a kick in the stomach, even to me. Every thing I said was true, every word. And that was what frightened me the most. You can't hide from rejection, from the critiquing stares of other people, from the criticism. Every corner you turn to, it'll be there, waiting. I wake up everyday not knowing where I'm going to be tomorrow, or who I'm going to meet. Is it worth it? I always thought love and friendship were worthless, but instead they're the creators of the vast empty hole inside of me longing to be filled.

Katrina stared at me, but there was a different gleam to her eyes; they were filled with real, genuine warmth. "I admire you, Melanie. You're so determined, so sincere… " I burst out laughing inside. How little this woman knew, but she possessed a quality no other person acquired. Katrina was extremely compassionate; one of the kindest souls I had ever met, and I hated her to an extent I never knew possible.


	11. The Ledger

CHAPTER 11

THE LEDGER

I avoided Katrina for the rest of the day; only speaking when spoken to, and even then, my answers were short and to the point. It was only when I heard the front door shut that I emerged from the library where I had been skimming through mindless books of scientific investigations. Even with all I had been through over the past twenty-four hours, my mind still questioned why Ichabod had been reluctant and refused to answer my questions concerning the tree or anything else in particular.

I knew I'd have to find the answers myself and as discreetly as possible. Although I was quite sore, I didn't know when I'd have this house, this mansion, to myself again and I should take it to my best advantage to search for something that would point me in the right direction.

The first place I'd start with would be Ichabod's study. It was a small room connecting to his laboratory, and I had noticed it when I had interrupted him at his work… when he kissed me so intensely... I shook my head, clearing my mind. Now wasn't the time to think of romance. If I wanted to make any progress in my investigation I would need to hurry.

I opened the door to his study, and entered a crowded room with walls of bookshelves containing hundreds and hundreds of books of all different colors and sizes. A chair rested in the corner, but its purpose worthless as its seat was filled with more books and papers. If there's one skill Constable Crane lacks, it's organization, I thought walking to a dark oak desk cluttered with open books, more papers, and other nameless objects scattered about. Pulling open the first drawer of the desk, my heart sank. I fumbled through files and papers, but nothing caught my eye. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I knew that finding it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and my time was limited.

I moved on to the second drawer. Not a thought of remorse or guilt crossed my mind. Deep down, I knew what I was doing was wrong, like so many other things, but I soon learned to ignore that feeling. I discovered the truth years ago. If you play by the rules, you always lose; one way or another. And I was playing one game where losing wasn't an option.

Rummaging through the deep sea of diagrams and papers, my fingers scraped the soft, leather-bound cover of a book resting at the bottom of the drawer. Pulling the book from its resting-place, I could tell it had not been touched for at least a year, as the red leather was faded with dust. I opened it to the first page, and my heart began to beat faster as I realized that it wasn't a book I was looking at, but a ledger – Ichabod's ledger. I easily recognized the unique script of Ichabod's handwriting as I had read the note he had left with my dress countless times.

My eyes drifted to the entry date on the top of the page;

November 11, 1799

That would be two years ago come this fall. Two years ago! I began to read the following entry, my hands shaking with uncertainty.

Upon my arrival to Sleepy Hollow, I have tried to find out as many details about the murders as possible, and talking with the town elders, I can only question what kind of town have I come to. These men only have one person suspected of the murders – a deceased German Hussein Masonry who returned from his grave as a headless horseman. Apparently, this horseman randomly committed the decapitations and seized the heads of his victims, taking them back to his grave in hell. The only information I have retained from this is the question of the metal conditions of these men, or how such nonsense provoked their minds. Tomorrow I begin my investigation and will bring to justice the man responsible for the murders using my rational mind (perhaps the only one in this God-fearing town) and my modern scientific techniques and experimentations.

I stood in such a state of disbelief that I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. Slowly, I let the air departed my lungs. Was this ledger what I had been searching for? I didn't know what lay hidden in the depths of the book, but did the pages bound between this leather hold the answers to all my questions? I was confident it did.

Tucking the ledger beneath the folds of my blanket, I stared at the third drawer debating whether or not I should open it. I already had what I was looking for, but it seemed as if a magnetic force drew my fingers to the wooden handle. My eyes widened into saucers as I heaved the final drawer open, and I gasped, stumbling backwards into one of the bookcases. My lips trembled and tears galloped from my eyes as free as wild horses when I grazed my quivering fingers over the delicate and faded petals of wildflowers. My mind flash backed to the day I had given Ichabod the flowers, and oblivious to the verity at the time, I realized now that when I placed the bouquet into his hands, I had placed my heart into his hands as well.

My fingers drifted from the flowers to a bundle of lightly folded velvet. Removing the cloth from the drawer, I could see it was blood red, the same blood red of my mother's gown. I pressed my fingers to my tear ducts, hoping to ease the flow of my salty tears, but had little success. Returning the velvet, I picked up the last object that occupied the drawer. It was a piece of paper with two black fingerprints, side by side – Ichabod's and my prints from when we were locked in that passionate and surreal moment. For an instant I felt his lips on mine and remembered that gaze in his eyes, beggaring description.

I put the paper back into the drawer, making an extra effort ensuring everything was as I had found them. Without another glance around the room, I quickly left, holding the ledger secretly under the blanket. Hurrying up to my room, I exhaled a sigh of relief as I shut the door behind me. The house was still empty, and I had succeeded in gathering the information I had wanted, or so I had hoped. I placed the ledger atop the vacant desk, but instead of sitting down and reading it as I had planned, I began to pace the length of the room pondering on the treasures I had discovered in the third drawer of Ichabod's desk.

This was going to make this very complicated, indeed. Now that I knew Ichabod possessed the feelings that I held so avidly for him, I knew that I would never be able to look him in the eye and be completely honest with him. Dear God, why does it have to be this way? I wanted to scream – explode my frustration and confusion from my body. Perhaps then I would feel better and think rationally for once.

But then I forgot why I was so aggravated and enraged. Why wasn't I delighted to determine that I wasn't a fool to fall for a man who had no interest in me? Because truth be told, Ichabod has feelings for me, intense feelings that lay locked in the chambers of his heart. "_My heart of which that does not belong to me, but to the innocence of my wife," _I remembered his ingenuous words to me, words that almost seemed harsh. He loved Katrina, that wasn't hard to justify, but how then, does it seem possible for him to love me? I know he does. I was certain of it, as certain as the sun would set in the west. But why was I so confused? I was so utterly confused that I felt lost in the pathways of my own mind. I was more lost than any person deserves to be.

And then I remembered Ichabod's ledger lying on my desk. What a stupid girl I was! Of course, if I wanted to understand more, I would have to learn more. By reading the ledger, I would uncover the mysterious secrets that possessed Ichabod's mind, and perhaps every other mind in Sleepy Hollow. Then I would finally be able to decide on the correct path to take, and understand possibly the most unique and perplexing man I would ever meet – Constable Ichabod Crane.


	12. Belle of Burdens

CHAPTER 12

BELLE OF BURDENS

The spine crackled when I opened the ledger and my eyes grazed across the words, my hand consistently turning page after page. And that's how I sat, for hours upon hours, lost in the horrific epic of the investigation that would haunt Ichabod well into the hereafter. It almost didn't seem real, like I was reading a novel by some individual with too much imagination for his own good. Of course I questioned the authenticity of the story unfolding before me. Who wouldn't have a difficult time believing that an ethereal fiend could return from the fires of hell only to slay the lives of innocent people for a lust of bloodshed? Something, though, deep inside me told me that all of it was true, something I could not recognize. Perhaps it was the style of which Ichabod wrote, or his mind almost driving him to the point of lunacy as he attempted to detect the guilty. Yes, every word, every sentence was true whether I rationally believed it or not.

A sharp thud on my door caused my bones to leap from my skin and I instantaneously put my hands to my throat. The moon shone brightly outside my window, and only the flicker of the small lamp lighted the diminutive room, causing eerie shadows to extend from the dark corners. "Y-y-yes?" I answered shakily and swallowed the lump that had accumulated in my throat.

"Pardon me, Melanie, but can you spare a moment?" Ichabod's voice was muffled behind the barrier of the door, and my muscles relaxed knowing that it was only Ichabod's innocuous soul that had disturbed me.

"Of course," I said snapping the ledger shut and shoving it within a drawer of the desk. Throwing the blanket back over my shoulders, I opened the door, but no one was there. "Ichabod?" I asked puzzled. I stared out into the dark hallway and I saw him struggling with my trunk. "Ichabod!" I cried and I ran over to him, not noticing my blanket slip from my shoulders. "Here, let me help you," I offered taking one end of the enormous chest and together, we heaved it into my room.

"How did you…?" I asked almost lost for words. I opened it, and the familiar groan of the old hinges caused tears to brim my eyes. Everything was folded neatly and primed. The black coat Ichabod had given me lay on top of the heap, and I looked questionably into the deep ocean of his eyes.

"Consider it my gift to you," he smiled warmly and I felt the light drift of a lone tear roll down my cheek. "Oh Ichabod," I breathed, and planted him a polite kiss on the cheek. He seemed awkward and timid, and I blushed embarrassed.

"I thought you might you want these," he finally said softly and withdrew from his pocket my ivory comb and mirror. I took my precious belongings from his hand and gazed at them as if I hadn't seen them for years.

"These were my mothers," I said clutching the mirror and comb to my chest.

Ichabod nodded his head. "You miss her don't you?"

"More than anything," Ichabod sat down on the bed next to me, but I didn't notice, consumed in my own thoughts. I took a deep breath. "It's been nineteen years…and I still miss her so much. I see her in my dreams sometimes, but I can never see her face. I don't even know what she looked like, Ichabod. I've never seen a portrait of her, or even read a description. And yet…she still exists… right here," I placed my hand to my heart and looked into Ichabod's eyes; full of understanding and compassion. For a brief moment it seemed he contemplated on what to do or say to comfort me.

"Loosing a mother leaves wounds that will never heal, and no matter how hard we try to conceal them, we will always bear the scares, Melanie." He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to hold back memories that threatened to break the lock he kept bolted so tight. I placed my hand on top of his. He was shivering slightly, hardly enough to notice, but he wasn't cold.

"Thank you, Ichabod," was all I could think to say. He slowly stood up and cleared his throat.

"Uh, if it's of any interest to you, you are most welcome to join Katrina and I for dinner tonight," he politely offered knowing that I had nowhere else to go.

"It's most generous of you," I smiled weakly. "I'll be down in a moment."

His hand was on the knob of the door as he nodded his approval, and just like that he was gone.

I rummaged through my trunk and pulled out my white Sunday dress. It would suit for the casual evening, and after I changed into it, I drew back the hair from my face. However, seeing that it only accented the black swollen lump that was once my eye, I decided to let my loose curls hang carelessly over my shoulders. My father always liked my hair let loose and rowdy when I was younger. He said it matched my personality and let the ice blue of my eyes, my mother's eyes, waltz and shimmer. And then at the mentioning of my mother, he'd stop in mid sentence and his eyes would go blank, the fire behind them burning out – even to the last coal in the ashes. He'd mumble things I couldn't comprehend, and at first, I was terrified and I cried and screamed. But then, after these became frequent episodes, I would just leave and let the nurses handle his hysterical outbursts, while I, the "Belle of Burdens," sat slumped in the hall trying to drown out his ravings.


	13. The Proposition

CHAPTER 13

A PROPOSITION

I could hear the faint clamor of china as I glided down the oak staircase. Turning the corner, I saw a dining table, gleaming beneath a bravura chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Katrina sat at the far side of the table, daintily sipping tea. Ichabod sat across from Katrina, his back towards me, politely thanking a fair-haired servant for serving the meal. The servant cast a weatherworn smile when she noticed me. "Miss Olsen, please take your seat," she gestured to a chair next to Katrina. Ichabod stood up when he heard my name, and as I walked to my seat, he kindly addressed me: "Ah, Melanie. Nice for you to join us." He only sat when I sat and I felt uncomfortable at his polite actions, as rising for a lady was only something performed if the lady was of higher class than the man who rose. It dignified the respect the man held for the woman, and I could hardly consider Ichabod's gesture appropriate considering I held no class and was residing in his home for the time being.

I sat awkwardly as my plate was pilled with pork, vegetables, biscuits, and other fares. My eyes stayed focused on the napkin folded in my lap, as no one was talking and the only noise that occupied the room was the clanking of silverware against china. I took exceedingly tiny bites from my meal and it was only after the first few hit the pit of my empty stomach, I realized how hungry I actually was. The food was incredibly appetizing and I took particular care to ensure I remained a lady in my manners; not a bite too big, too fast, or too numerous.

It was only when we were halfway through the course, that Katrina finally broke the silence. "So, Miss Olsen, where do you call home?"

I immediately swallowed the food I had in my mouth and cleared my throat. "New York, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Katrina laid down her butter knife and fork, and folded her hands in her lap.

"Yes," I stabbed a piece of pork on my plate and watched as the juices seeped from the meat. "I've traveled quite a bit."

"I see," she said. "I love New York. We lived there for a few months not long ago. It was all so big, and all the buildings and lights…" I could almost see some of New York's finest architecture gleam in whites of her eyes.

"It's a city that will steal your heart," I said taking a sip of the zinfandel looking coldly at Ichabod like I could see right through him. He was looking nervously at his plate, toying with his food. The stench of the rat grew stronger. Had Ichabod lied to me when he said Katrina hadn't liked New York? Or was Katria lying by saying she had loved it? I glanced in her direction. No, she probably isn't even capable of telling a little white lie, I thought.

"What are your plans from here?" Katrina lightly dabbed her napkin to her mouth.

"I don't really know. I didn't really expect the present situation," I spoke shyly and avoided eye contact. "You and Ich – The Constable have been extremely kind and generous. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough."

"Well, if it would interest you, I do need an extra hand around the house, and you could continue boarding in your quarters temporarily until you find something a little more permanent." A dry lump accumulated in my throat, and I looked at Ichabod whose mouth was wide open and his fork was stalled in midair.

"Katrina, dear, I really don't think Miss Olsen would take to…" he spoke softly and nervously while he set his fork on the edge of his plate.

"Thank you, but I really don't…" as I tired to think of an excuse to politely decline her request a pang of relief came over me. True, things were going be tremendously uncomfortable with Ichabod, but Katrina's offer gave me a sense of security. Before, I had been blind to where I would be in twenty-four hours, but if I accepted, I would at least know that I had a roof over my head and a bed to return to each night.

"Nonsense," Katrina smiled warmly at her husband and spoke as if I were not there. "Ichabod, where would she go? It's the least we could do, and besides it is quite tiring keeping up with all the housekeeping by myself. I know you're not fond of hired help, but this solution would benefit all of us."

Ichabod sighed his defeat, "very well." He than shot me a glance that almost knocked me from my chair and made me realize the evident; perhaps residing under the same roof as Ichabod wouldn't be as easy as I thought.


	14. Sense and Reason

CHAPTER 14

SENSE AND REASON

I caught up with Ichabod later that night. A crisp breeze bit at my nose and I spotted Ichabod leaning against an oak catching a breath of fresh air.

"Tell me the truth," I demanded causally leaning against the trunk next to him.

"About what?" he asked innocently not adjusting his gaze.

"New York," I said. "A few days ago you told me you and your wife left New York because she wasn't happy there. Then today, she told me she fell in love with the city. Which one is Constable?"

"You wouldn't understand," his eyes cut right through me and he started toward his house.

"If you tell me, I would!" I shouted and took off after him.

He spun on his heels, his nostrils flaring, his lips parted ever so slightly. At that moment I wanted to kiss his lips, the crown of his head. My heart was pounding, but I did not reveal my feelings that wanted to rupture. "You don't give up, do you?"

I looked down at my feet, "Not easily," I admitted in a whisper.

"Very well. We returned to New York to bring to the court my findings in Sleepy Hollow and I told the burgomaster what happened, every detail… all sixteen murders. He thought I was mad! And for awhile, confined to the suffocation of a straightjacket, I thought I was too. If it wasn't for Katrina I would still be enclosed behind the walls of the asylum, and in the least, I owe her that much. I thought it the end of the world when he dismissed me from the constabulary, but Katrina showed me there was more to life than that. We had no choice but to leave New York, and where else to go than back here?"

"I apologize… I had no idea," I stuttered and bit my lower lip.

"No, you didn't," he said and took a breath. "And then I met you and for once in my life I realized there's more to life than just sense and reason."

He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. I thought he was going to kiss me and electricity jolted down my body. Closing my eyes and parting my lips, I anticipated his lips on mine, but it never came. Instead, he dropped his hands and left me standing in the moonlight.


	15. Life in the Hollow and Unexpected Twists

CHAPTER 15

LIFE IN THE HOLLOW AND AN UNEXPECTED TWIST

And so it was that I remained under the Crane's roof through the season's first snowfall performing the odd jobs that was asked of me in exchange for room and board. The townspeople thought it odd and most irregular for the mysterious young woman to be lodging with a married man and his wife, but neither Ichabod nor Katrina seemed to mind the disapproving stares that harbored their way. I, on the other hand, received more that just censorious glances and the people of Sleepy Hollow seemed to all but spit at my feet. On the outside, I went about my tasks with a smile across my face, and was everything I should have been; the villagers' comments did nothing but braze my flesh. On the inside, conversely, my emotions were rampant.

Not long after I arrived at the Crane Mansion, I caught a glimpse of William Rexroth while on one of my daily jaunts about the town. His eye was a burnished black and he was visibly rushed as he hastily shoved bags of his belongings in a coach I did not recognize from Sleepy Hollow. From the safety of the corner, I watched discreetly as he ordered the driver his muffled destination and climbed into the cab. I never saw him again. The cottage he abandoned was in as worse conditions as ever, its walls hardly able to support its own leaky roof. Although not a single person occupied the little shack, the thought of moving back did not cross my mind.

Initially, living with Ichabod was incredibly awkward, but soon we grew accustom to each other's presence. Conversation was little, always polite, but predominantly we avoided each other as much as unsuspectingly possible. He mostly kept behind the closed doors of his laboratory while I busied myself around the house or ran errands for Katrina. Being near Ichabod eased my state of lovelorn even though we weren't close. He always was kind and friendly and treated me with the respect that was absent from so many other people. It was he who made me feel like I mattered, and in so many words, the few times I gazed into his eyes that fait flicker of passion that possessed my dreams ever since we kissed was present.

Without realizing it, I found myself knowing even the smallest details of the complex Constable Crane. I knew that he was an early riser, preferred his chamomile tea lukewarm with the slightest hint of peppermint, and the only vegetable that he avoided completely was cauliflower. I knew he suffered from insomnia for many times as I lay awake at night, I could hear the unique shuffles of his feet as he paced through the halls or worked frantically in his laboratory until the wee hours of dawn.

But that isn't all… it goes deeper. I knew Ichabod, perhaps, even better than he knew himself. I knew that he was squeamish and edgy; a workaholic uncomfortable in his own skin and insecure about himself. He was one who preferred facts to conjectures, and didn't adapt easily to change. Yet there was a softer side to this man, a side of empathy and mercy that he kept hidden beneath his dark clothes and proper posture. It was this side that brought a grin to my face and I was certain I could see it as easily if I were blind. It was these thoughts that made me tremble. The fact that I knew all these things without the recognition that I did was frightening.

As time wore on, my life was more than less, a routine – everyday was the same. I woke at the same hour, completed the same endless and tedious tasks each day, retired to my room the same time each night, and was sleepless for countless hours wondering if my life would always be as it had become.

It wasn't until mid December when our lives took an unexpected twist. At the evening meal one night, Katrina announced she had received a letter from her uncle in Delaware saying her aunt was vitally ill and had requested her presence before she passed.

"This is something I must do," she told Ichabod sternly. "I've already sent for a coach and it should arrive early tomorrow morning."

Ichabod smiled warmly at his wife. "If you must go, then give my regards to your aunt, and I wish you the best on your journey. How long to you plan to be away?"

"Not long at all. A fortnight, perhaps a three weeks at the most, I'll be home for Christmas certainly." Ichabod nodded slightly.

"I'll make sure everything is tended to here," I added. "You don't need to worry about a thing."

"Thank you Melanie. It's been such a relief having you here," Katrina flashed a sincere smile my direction and for once, I smiled back, a true smile. Even though we hadn't really become friends, we seemed to mingle a little more than I thought we would. I still despised her with a passion; after all she still was Katrina Crane, wife of Constable Ichabod Crane. However, never in a hundred years would I have thought of the two of us actually occupying the same room without staring at each other with the tint of bloody knives in the gleams of our eyes – although I was quite positive either one of us would admit to it.


	16. Haunted by Dreams

CHAPTER 16

HAUNTED BY DREAMS

Morning came quickly and there was a fresh skiff of powder blanketing the streets as Ichabod and I saw Katrina off. I politely wished her well and stood uncomfortably to the side as Ichabod whispered something in her ear and kissed her farewell on her porcelain cheek. I turned around attempting to hide the flush that brightened my face. Even though I knew he was married, I couldn't refrain from my feelings or stop the pinch of jealousy in my heart. We only watched for a moment as Katrina's coach rolled out of sight, and wasted no time returning to the warmth of the house.

Ichabod and I didn't speak as we went about our separate tasks throughout the day; Ichabod was consumed in his own experiments in his laboratory for hours upon hours, while I tended to everyday household tasks. I soon found that Ichabod felt more comfortable in his lab than anywhere else. Katrina once lightheartedly told me that she thought his sciences were his one true love, but now I came to the conclusion she wasn't exactly joking. Ichabod was just as uncomfortable with women as he was with himself. I even noticed slight tension between him and Katrina, and there was no question he felt awkward in my presence.

Our silence streak continued through the evening meal and well into the night until we both retired to our rooms. As I lay wide-eyed in my bed watching the moon dance across the sky, I couldn't help but notice how empty the house felt. It was like I was the only there, but I knew Ichabod was also alone in his room waiting for sleep to captivate his mind.

It was only when slumber had lightly grasped my mind with its silky fingers that I awoke with a start and sprung into a sitting position. I could have sworn that a scream and jerked me from my sleep, but the only noise I could hear was the faint bellow of a lone owl soloing in the cold night outside my window. Convinced it was only the reoccurring nightmare that had wedged itself into my brain so frequently before, I laid back down and let my eyelids drift shut, but it was only a few moments later that I heard the scream – a muffled moan – again. I realized that these screams weren't fabrications of my imagination, but real screams that pierced the air – Ichabod's screams.

"Ichabod!" I gasped and leaped out of bed, grabbing the candle from the desk. As I dashed down the hall, I gripped the candle so tightly, I felt my fingers imprinting the soft wax in my hand, but I failed to notice the drippings of the scalding wax running onto it. Bursting through the door, I saw Ichabod tossing restlessly in a large four-poster bed, heaving in breath and slight moans escaping his lips. Placing the candle in a holder on the bureau, I hurried to his side. As I neared, I gazed at his body glistening with sweat and his white nightshirt drenched and hugging every muscle beneath his chest. His black hair was damp and rumpled, a few strands sticking to his pale forehead. I had no qualm that a horrible nightmare possessed his mind, as I had also similar ravings in the silent hours of the night. Sitting on the edge of the bed I took his quivering hand in my own. It was cold and clammy as his sweat cooled in contact with the air. "Shhh…I'm here," I whispered soothingly.

"Katrina!" he struggled to gasp his wife's name between breaths. I noticed blood trickling from a gash on the left side of his chest, barely visible between the cords of his shirt. I was puzzled because I recalled a scar there the night he tended to my wounds so impelled by Rexroth. However, I did not ponder on this new sense of bewilderment - I had to concentrate on easing Ichabod's mind.

"She's safe, I promise," I assured him. "You're having a bad dream, nothing more." I brushed a few stay hairs that had fallen over his eyes.

"Melanie?" he asked when his eyes became ajar and locked with mine. I smiled and he slowly sat up, catching his breath. "I was dreaming," he said. "A horrible dream…" A confused expression decorated the lines of his face.

"I know. I heard you from my room and came to see if you're all right," I whispered.

He looked at me in disbelief and ran his fingers through his dark mane. "I…I seem to be fine, just shaken. I haven't had those dreams since before Katrina and I…" he paused. "I guess it's just been so long since I've been away from her," he rationalized smiling slightly at the thought of his wife. "I'm sorry that I disturbed you." He looked at me with eyes that showed gratitude, hunger, strength, weakness, so many things, and so many emotions that I didn't know existed. But they existed in Ichabod – in the crashing waves of his dark, mysterious eyes. How my stomach frolicked, how my spine quaked, how my heart pounded as the room suddenly grew too warm for comfort.

"You do not need to apologize," I said. "I just wanted to see that you were all right, and now that I have…" I stood up and turned to depart, but a hand on my arm stopped me.

"This may seem rather silly and quite improper of me," Ichabod's voice was soft and unsteady with nervousness. "But would you think it indecent of me if I were to ask you to consider staying here for the remainder of the night?"

I just stared at him contemplating if he was serious in his request or if he still wasn't thinking clearly. I opened my mouth to say something, but not a word parted my lips. Whether or not my answer was an agreement or an objection, I did not know. Seeing my perplexed reaction, he looked down at his hands. "Forgive me for my uncouth request," he finally said shyly like he were a young boy attempting to explain why he disobeyed his parents. "But your presence seems to be somewhat a comfort to me."

I sighed. "Do not think of it as uncouth or indecent. You have already given me so much that many people would consider your charitable acts towards me uncouth – immodest, if you will. Therefore, however, I don't believe indecency is a concern in this situation. Because of your many deeds of hospitality, I only feel it fit that I at least fulfill to your requests of the best of my ability."

Ichabod looked taken aback at my semi-lecture, but I assured him with a grin. "I'd be happy to," I added. "Besides, I doubt I can return to sleep anyway, and I'd at least rest better knowing you slept soundly without the disruption of the demons in evil dreams."

"You don't know how grateful I am," he finally said laying his head back on his pillow. Before I could answer him, his eyes were tranquilly shut.

I blew out the withering flame of the candle on the bureau and sat down in a big oak chair by the window. The moon's pale light shone through the glass casting an eerie glow throughout the room. A majority of the light shone on Ichabod who seemed more corpse-like than alive, but perhaps he just simply seemed so surreal. His usually pale complexion appeared ghastly in the light, like he was the specter that haunted my dreams. My heart fluttered as I looked at him, and in the silence of the room, it sounded louder than a drum roll – his dark hair contrasting the white of his face, his steep jawline, and cheekbones that could cut glass.

I closed my eyes and tried to find a comfortable position in the hard wooded chair, but after each relieving moment, aches and pains returned to my lower back and neck.

I glanced over at Ichabod. He was sleeping as soundly as ever and for a moment I considered returning to my room, to the soft blankets of my bed and the sweet embrace of my pillow. However, I quickly tossed the tantalizing thought from my mind. I had promised Ichabod I'd remain at his side for the night and if his nightmare returned and he burst into hysterics… I couldn't bear the thought of what he might think of me if I wasn't there to comfort him like I had promised. I rubbed my aching neck while I envied Ichabod who rested comfortably in the gigantic bed.

Bed. Gigantic bed.

Ichabod only occupied half the bed at the most. There was a whole other side, duvet completely undisturbed. How could I even think such impure thoughts? But the bed that seemed to be crying my name, captivated my mind. I wouldn't lie down for long, I told myself. And the bed's so big, it surely wouldn't hurt. I shuffled over to the bed and softly climbed up on it, desperately trying not to disturb the body next to me. I sunk into the velvet of the duvet, my muscles all but screaming their relief. My mind slipped away as did the whites of my eyes as my lids fell over them. Even though I told myself I'd only lay down for not but a few minutes, I later realized that keeping track of time – telling minutes from hours was exceedingly difficult when you were lost in the vast forest of deep slumber.


	17. A New Face

CHAPTER 17

A NEW FACE

The warm glow of the sun shimmering through the window kissed my cheeks. The room I awoke in was strange and unfamiliar. Instantly sitting up, I recalled what had happened last night. Dear God, reality struck me with a hard blow to the stomach. My "only a few minutes," of sleep had turned to hours, and now, judging by the sun glistening blindly on the new fallen snow, it was well past noon. I had overslept and I was afraid I would pay dearly. However, something seemed different, altered. I dropped my hands into my lap, but when I did, they landed in the soft veil of green velvet. That was it! When I decided to lie down on the bed last night, I did not bother to remove the duvet - I just slept atop of it, but this morning I was buried beneath it.

The spot next to me, the spot where Ichabod slept, was empty, but definitely disturbed. I groaned with the realization that Ichabod knew that I had decided to sleep on his bed and such a thing was unheard of – an irrational act of immodesty. Perhaps Ichabod would understand if I explained things to him, I thought. But whatever happened, or would happen, I couldn't dwell on. Being it noon, I was dreadfully behind on my chores, and my first priority was to fulfill to the work I had been hired for.

When I entered the hallway, I listened closely for any noise that would reveal Ichabod's whereabouts. Not that it mattered, but as of now, I wanted simply to avoid him. Satisfied when I heard nothing, I scurried to my room and shut the door. Hastily, I shed my nightdress and donned appropriately for the day. I jogged down the stairs, my heart pounding, pulling my hair into a jumbled bun. The house was empty, as I had hoped. Ichabod was either absorbed in his laboratory or had gone out and this was a relief to me. Entering the kitchen, a single cup of tea resting on the counter caught my eye. When I neared, I saw that it was brimming with chamomile tea and raspberries. Placing my hand against the cool china, I could tell it had been sitting out for the better part of the morning. This bemused me to some degree because I was the only one of the household who liked the concoction of raspberries and chamomile, and Ichabod had obviously set the cup out for me. But why on earth would he do that? I was surprised he was still alive after the heart attack he must have endured waking up next to me. I left the cup where it was as if I were afraid to touch it. Now wasn't the time to play detective anyway, I had things to do.

When I went to the kitchen hearth to check how much kindling I would need to supply the wood box, I was surprised to find it full. Odd because I had not refilled it last night and it was typically empty come the next morning. I checked the sitting room's wood box and like the kitchen, it was filled – as was the library's, and the master suite. I came to the conclusion that because only two people occupied the manor now we did not go through as much timber. I did not allow myself to think rationally about this because I knew that the number of people in the house had no effect on how much wood was fed to the fires, but I was satisfied with my assumption anyway.

Next, I went to the sewing room to launder the week's clothes, press, and mend what garments needed. When I opened the door, my face transformed into a pasty white. Sitting folded and pressed on top the sewing table was a pile of clothing. As I had remembered, I had this room completely skewed with clothing that needed to be tended to. Examining the pile, I noticed the clothing that needed to be laundered, washed, the garments that needed to be pressed, stiff and neat, and even the mending was an act of perfection. Since Katrina was gone, I only knew of one man that was capable of such feminine skills and that man was Ichabod. I didn't know if I the feelings I felt at this moment were of gratitude or irritation, but I went and returned the clothing to their rightful places and decided that I was in a mood for a short equestrian venture. Perhaps a short ride would ease my mind, and at the very least give me an opportunity to leave the house.

Pulling on my gloves and winter cloak, I stepped into the warm sunlight and took in a breath of fresh air. I was already beginning to relax and pleased that I had thought of going for a ride on such a perfect day. It was unusually warm for a day in early December and my boots crunched in the snow as I made my way to the stables.

"Good Afternoon, Miss Olsen." John, the stable hand addressed me in his crisp English accent.

He had immigrated from Welshire a few months ago, coming to New England looking for new and better opportunities in America. If being the stable hand for the wealthiest family in the isolated town of Sleepy Hollow was his idea of a better opportunity, then he had greatly succeeded.

A young man of twenty-two, he stood about average height with a muscular build from many years of hard labor. He had dark blonde shoulder-length hair, slightly bleached by the sun, that he usually kept tied to the base of his neck, and almond-shaped hazel eyes beneath broad, yet appealing brows. His square jaw suited his frame and he had full lips that seemed to be set in a permanent smile.

Being extremely attractive, holding an innocent charm, and labeled as a hopeless romantic, there was no doubt that he was the town's "most eligible bachelor." He definitely had the few town belles' undivided attentions, but either he was completely oblivious to the fact or he didn't care. I was quite certain it was the later. However, being able to choose any girl he wanted in this town, he had to choose the only one who had no interest in him – me. Of course, I was attracted to him, but in my mind my heart belonged to someone else. I flirted with him in the amount considered proper, but that was only to satisfy the town gossips that I held no interest in Ichabod and was just like every other giddy girl in the small town.

"Afternoon, John," I said smiling. "Can you believe this weather?"

He rose from the position where he had laid fixing a broken axis on one of the finer carriages and examined the weather as if for the first time that day. "No, it's quite nice for a ride today." He said panting and rolling up his sleeves. His cheeks were a bright red from being out in the colder weather for too long. "Would you like me to saddle up Ole' Jack for you?"

"I'm quite sure I can manage," I replied almost irritated. I couldn't understand why men couldn't accept the fact that women could saddle, or handle horses for that matter, as well or better then they could. That was just the way things were, I supposed. "Is there any particular reason why you're fixing that carriage axis on a winter day?" I asked curiously wanting to know if there was a specific reason for it or he just didn't want to procrastinate it any longer.

"You haven't heard?" he asked rather surprised. I stared at him blankly. "Master Crane has to go to Beacon Friday evening," he told me like I was the last person in the world to hear about this affair. I didn't recall Ichabod mentioning anything about it, but perhaps it just slipped my mind.

"It's news to me. Did he say what for?" I questioned.

John shook his head. "He did not. I was only informed that I was to mend this axle."

"I see," I said. "Well then, it's best I get to that ride." John nodded and returned to his work as I disappeared between the barn doors.

I returned from my ride a little past dark. John was just finishing up the evening feeding when I returned Jack to his stall. The ride was just what I had needed and I rode along the banks of the river cherishing the melodious rush of the water that was so soothing to my mind. To my surprise, I didn't think about Ichabod, last night, or what his affair might be in Beacon. I didn't know exactly what I thought of, but I knew the river worked it's magic for I came back refreshed and in a wonderful mood that had me humming as I unsaddled Jack.

"How was your ride?" John asked taking the saddle over his arm.

"Oh, just marvelous," I said between humming and planted a conservative peck on his cheek. I didn't kiss John because I felt something for him, but because I was in such a mood I would have kissed anyone who would have asked me that question. Nevertheless, John's eyes flared with a passionate spark worth more than just a peck, and he quickly returned the saddle to the tack room. I chuckled lightly to myself as I made my way towards the house.

Ichabod emerged from the library when the creaking of the front door announced my presence. My nose and cheeks were crimson from the nipping of the cold winter air, and I shed my gloves from my hands rubbing them together hoping to warm them quicker.

"Melanie." Ichabod acknowledged me with a smile as I placed my gloves on the foyer table. I looked down at my feet extremely embarrassed realizing that it was the first time we've seen each other since last night. My glorious mood instantly dampened. Ichabod sensed this and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Don't fret about it, Melanie." I looked up, swallowing the lump in my throat and smiled shakily. "You enjoyed your ride?" he asked changing subject and I relaxed thankful for his attempt to settle the awkwardness that hung in the room.

"Very much so," I answered as we made our way to the parlor. I sat on the davenport close the fire and let heat of the fire's breath warm my skin. Ichabod sank in an armchair across from me, but said nothing. "You're going to Beacon Friday?" I asked only to kill the silence that seemed to have swallowed the house save for the crackling of the flames.

"Yes," he said. "I was just about to talk to you about that."

"To me?" I asked baffled, still rubbing my hands together even though they were already quite warm.

He nodded. "It's a Christmas celebration two weeks before Christmas, believe it or not, hosted by a wealthy family with whom Katrina and I have done agricultural business in the past couple of years. I'm not really keen on going, but I suppose it's mandatory since I've already obliged to it." He paused and took a breath. "And since Katrina has prior obligations, I was hoping you'd agree to accompany me?"

"Me?" I stared at him in disbelief.

"You."

"I don't…I don't know." I stuttered. "I think it most inappropriate…"

"I don't," he differed before I could finish. "I ask you to accompany as a guest of my household, as a friend, not as my wife." He grinned teasingly.

"And I suppose I'll have to agree to go with you to reimburse your helpful deeds towards me this morning?" I smiled knowingly.

"That wasn't what I had in mind, but now that you mention it, it would be most polite of you."

I sighed. "Very well."


	18. A Bit of Everything

CHAPTER 18

A BIT OF EVERYTHING

"Melanie, you are wakeful?" Ichabod's light rasping on the door brought me from my sleep as the dawn of Friday morning appeared out my window.

"Yes, I'll be down in a moment," I said running a brush through my hair. Draping my robe over my shoulders, I bustled down the stairs and saw Ichabod sitting in the parlor with a cup of tea in his hand staring wondrously into the fire as if entranced by the dancing of the flames.

"Oh dear. You didn't sleep a wink last night did you?" I asked walking into the parlor.

He stared up at me and smiled. Dark circles dented under his eyes and his face was an ailing white. "I'll be fine."

"No you won't," I argued sitting down next to him. "Not if you don't sleep. It's been two days. Your body needs rest, Ichabod. I know it's difficult right now, but if you would have told me, we could have found a solution. I know it's awkward, but I don't think that matters anymore – not to me."

Ichabod looked at me through exhausted eyes and pain gleamed in his irises. "I feel like a boy again; terrified to close my eyes. Terrified of the dark, of the unexpected lurking in the shadows." He whispered trembling.

I couldn't compose myself any longer and a single tear rolled down my cheek. It pained me to see Ichabod this way and I embraced his quivering body. "Then I'll be your light." I whispered in his ear and he gently wrapped his arms around me. "Thank you, Melanie." He whispered so scarcely that I could hardly make out his words.

"The celebration is tonight," I finally reminded him. "John will have the carriage out front about four O' clock."

"I know," Ichabod nodded. "We'll need to find you something to wear."

"What?" I stared him. Perhaps he's really lacking in sleep, I thought.

"Follow me," he whispered and briskly walked up the stairs. I followed closely and he led me to the master suite. "Here," he said pulling open a sliding door revealing countless gowns of all styles, designs, and colors. I didn't think I had seen so many gowns at one time before. "Pick something you like," he extended his arm towards them.

" I couldn't possibly…"

"Something you like," he pressed and I hesitantly walked to the gowns, brushing my fingers delicately over the soft velvets and silks. At the far back of the closet, gold silk caught my eye. I pulled the winter waltzing gown from where it was smothered by other dresses and gowns and my eyes danced magically. "This one?" I asked in awe.

"If it suits you," Ichabod smiled and I could only nod. It perhaps was the simplest gown of them all, but to me holding the gold silk was better than holding gold itself.

"Ichabod?" I asked laying the gown over the back of a chair. "I'll stay here, if you want to sleep for awhile. I'll wake you a couple of hours before we have to leave so we can prepare."

"That would be most kind of you," he said and laid down on top of the green velvet. Before there was time to say anything else, sleep took over his mind.

I picked a random book from the bookcase and sat in the same chair as I had before. Opening the cover to the first page, I tried to concentrate on the words printed across the page, but that proved impossible. I sat there staring at Ichabod and my mind raced far away to places I could only visit in my dreams.

I sat there wondering if anything happened for a reason, and wondered why things had to be the way they were. I wondered why the sky was blue, why the grass was green, why birds chirped, and why I loved Ichabod to the point where it drove me insane. I also wondered if Ichabod loved Katrina just like I wondered if Ichabod loved me. I sat like that for hours and hours – wondering and thinking and running along beside my mind until I sauntered back to reality and had to wake Ichabod.

I shook him gently and whispered his name heaving him from his deep slumber. He gently rubbed his eyes and sat up. The small amount of color had returned to his face and the black circles under his eyes and lightened considerably. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up," I told him.

"I was afraid I wouldn't either," he grinned that half smile that would have sent me to my knees if I had not been sitting down.

"You look better." I pointed out.

"I feel better, thank you," he said and a few moments later, he ran his fingers lightly through my hair. My heart began to pound faster and faster and I was drawn to him at the thought of his lips on mine. I leaned closer as did he holding my cheek, our mouths angling to kiss. But then abruptly, he pulled back and dropped his hand. "I suppose it's time to prepare for the celebration," he said quickly rising to his feet.

I nodded. "Yes, of course." I stood up, gently grabbed the gown from the back of the chair and left to my room.

I stood yanking at the strings on the back of the corset that hugged my body. Heat of frustration surged through me as I tried to tighten the damn thing. I had been struggling with it for half an hour and every time I'd get the strings slightly tight enough, I'd attempt tie them and they would loosen again. I had almost given up, when Ichabod knocked on my door. "You're coming, Melanie?"

I almost cursed out loud. Here I was in a torturing epic with this dreadful undergarment while Ichabod stood outside my door asking if I was coming. "Actually, I'm experiencing some difficulties," I said struggling with the strings for the countless time.

"Difficulties?" Ichabod asked opening the door, and upon seeing me in nothing but the minimal corset, he quickly shut the door mumbling his apologies.

"It's really okay," I shouted. "I'm beginning to think dressing me is a two person job." I laughed lightly. "Seriously, I really could use your assistance."

Ichabod slowly opened the door averting his eyes towards the ground. He was donned in a black tuxedo and bow tie and his hair was gently combed back. For a moment, I forgot what I had asked of him and just stared at him as if I had just seen him for the first time. "These cords," I finally said softly motioning to the laces on the back of the garment. He looked up at me, his cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. I turned around and gripped the bedpost as I anticipated the sudden suffocation that the corset would induce.

Ichabod grasped the cords and lightly tugged at them having little success in creating the rib crunching sensation a corset was suppose to endure. "If you want the proper effect," I said matter-of-factly, "You're going to have to pull harder than that." I gripped the bedpost with white knuckles. "Go on," I said. "Harder."

Ichabod pulled harder and harder and I could finally feel my breath being forced out of my body, my ribs and hips crushing in the restraint, and my bosom growing tight against the thick material. I gasped as I felt my life being squeezed from me, and could hardly breath as he tied the laces. "You're okay?" he asked his eyes full of concern. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I painfully shook my head. "No," I gasped for air. "It just takes a moment getting used to."

Ichabod walked to the door. "Well then, I'll leave you to your…adjustments," he cleared his throat and left me to dress.

I slipped into the gown, which was extremely easier than the corset, and viewed myself in the mirror. The gown was, was…indescribable. It shimmered when the light hit it, and I knew tonight, with Ichabod, I'd feel more elegant than royalty. I curled my hair into loose ringlets and slipped into my black slippers. My heart was pounding uncontrollably and I wondered how I would possibly survive a three-hour carriage ride with Ichabod. Alone. I ran down the hall, the gown swooshing as I went. I stopped dead in my tracks when I reached the top of the stairs. Ichabod was standing with his back towards me at the foot of the staircase waiting. When he heard the swoosh of my gown as I started to descend the stairs, he turned and looked at me in that same way I looked at him when I first saw him in his tuxedo – eyes dancing in complete love-struck awe. My knees melted into the ground and I couldn't take one more step. I trembled gripping the banister with a grip that would challenge death itself. It was that grip that allowed me to continue down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I stood before Ichabod and we just stared at each other like life had no ending, like we were both perfectly content lost in each other's eyes for the rest of eternity.

Finally, he smiled. "Shall we?" he whispered offering me his arm. "Yes," was all I managed to say as I placed my hand in crook of his elbow, and together we walked out the door.

John, a top hat resting on his head, waited patiently outside the manor with a gleaming carriage drawn with two symmetrical black shinning drafts. He rushed to the coach side when he saw us, his eyes gleaming with astonishment. "Miss Olsen?"

"Yes, Miss Olsen will be accompanying me this evening," Ichabod explained reaching for the handle on the carriage door, but John's hand beat him to it, and he politely opened it, giving me a hand inside. Ichabod came in after me, and I smiled warmly at him. I noticed the dark rage of jealously in John's eyes as I thanked him, and he seemed to be slightly hesitant shutting the door.

In the next moment, the carriage surged ahead, rocking vigorously with the horses' gait. Not a word was spoken between Ichabod and I – there was nothing to say as we traveled along side the Hudson River north to Beacon, and soon the slight bouncing of the carriage lulled my eyes to drift shut no matter how many times I snapped them open again. I looked over at Ichabod, eyes shut, soundly asleep. I leaned my head against his shoulder, and let the tender thoughts of love and happiness entrance my mind, and it was at that moment, I knew my heart had finally found a home.


	19. Waltz of Truths

CHAPTER NINTEEN

WALTZ OF TRUTHS

"Melanie," Ichabod gently shook my shoulder. "We've arrived."

I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes as John opened the door. "Here we are, sir!" A cold breath of air shot through the carriage and I shivered. Ichabod stepped out, and offered me a hand. I took it and climbed out of the cab staring in wonderment at the mansion that stood before us. The house shone a shale gray in the moonlight and ivies enveloped the front of the house, twisting and entwining around windows that flickered a warm yellow. A cobbled path lead to the house surrounded by enormous maple trees and the fait hush of music and voices rang out in the bitter December air.

Snowflakes fluttered from the sky, landing lightly in our hair and melting as soon as they touched our skin. Ichabod took my arm in his and escorted me down the path.

An usher in a thick top hat and gloves, opening the door with a bow, revealed a vast ballroom adorned with the gold and silvers of the holiday season. Men in three piece suits and tuxedos, hats, white gloves, and canes were scattered about in clusters sipping brandy and laughing lightly at each other's comments. Other men, mostly younger than those sipping the brandy, accompanied the women guests dancing to the soft humming of a string quartet. The women, all it seemed restrained by the laces of a corset, were donned in winter long-sleeved velvet gowns or waltzing silks. The young woman flirted hopelessly with their dancing cohorts, young attractive men who had arrived without an accompaniment, and perhaps now I knew why Ichabod had asked I go with him.

"Change of scenery, isn't it?" Ichabod asked me seeing my reaction.

"Very much so," I replied still gazing around the room in astonishment. "They all seem so perfect."

"That's because they are…or that's what they want you to think." Ichabod grinned like human perfection wasn't uncommon. I had never attended anything so like this before, so elegant. Everyone appeared to be flawless – The women in gorgeous gowns with porcelain skin were happily married to men that could be older than their fathers. But what made them so happy? It certainly wasn't that little thing called love, and I had no doubt money was more of an attraction than appearance or character.

"Constable Crane! Ichabod Crane!" an older man of no more than 5'4" rushed towards us with a glass of golden liquid. He was pudgy and had a bushy white mustache that curled at the tips. The lights of the room reflected off his baldhead and in the glass lenses of his bifocals. "Constable, I thought that was you."

"Ah, Mr. DeBoise," Ichabod smiled. "Quite a gathering you're having this year."

"It's not too bad," the man said looking around the room and he took a sip of his drink, sloshing the ice around in his glass. His eyes stopped on me. "And where is the Mrs. Crane?" he asked looking at Ichabod with a raised eyebrow.

"Pardon my ill manners. Katrina has a family obligation and therefore she could not attend this evening." Ichabod said. "However, I'd like to introduce Miss Melanie Olsen, a dear friend of our family."

I took a step forward and offered my hand. Mr. DeBoise took it and gently put his lips to my flesh. "It's a pleasure," I blushed slightly.

"Melanie, this is Lemoñd DeBoise, the host of this fine party," Ichabod introduced us.

"If only I were a few years younger," Mr. DeBoise chuckled lightly, his laugh thick and harsh caused by years of cigar smoking. A dark-haired woman, in a velvet green gown glided to his side, towering inches above him, and grinned pleasantly at me.

"And the Mrs. DeBoise," Ichabod smiled politely at the woman as her husband, at least twenty years her senior, introduced us.

"Lemoñd, darling. I believe it's about time to begin the waltzes." Mrs. DeBoise amiably reminded her husband.

"Yes, of course," he answered her and shouted the announcement causing an abrupt alternation in the music and the tempo of which gowns twirled. All the people around us eagerly participated in the waltz and before I knew it, Mr. DeBoise took my hands and led me through the different movements of the dance. I kept my eyes on Ichabod and could hardly contain my laughter as I saw him awkwardly dancing with the Mrs. DeBoise, making sure the utmost space remained between them at all times. So much like Ichabod, I smiled to myself.

When the waltz finished, I politely thanked Mr. DeBoise and spent the next two dances lightly sipping a glass of champagne watching as the tireless dancers skipped and frolicked about. I politely refused as a few men asked me if they could have this or that dance, and found myself perfectly content watching Ichabod chatting with a gentleman near the foyer. Just by the way his eyes shimmered, I knew he was engaging in a conversation about his many sciences.

People began to issue their salutations and depart the party before the final waltz began. A light tap on my shoulder caused me to startle slightly, and I spun around only to collide with the smiling face of Ichabod. "I was hoping I could have the final dance?" he asked shyly.

"Why Constable, I'd be honored!" I grinned teasingly as music started.

"I must warn you though, I'm not a proficient dancer," he admitted taking my hands.

I laughed. "Neither am I, but what do we have to lose?"

"Just our reputations that we aren't fools," Ichabod grinned, placing his left hand on the small of my back. I chuckled again as a tingle shot up my spine. We twirled about the polished floor to the lively tempo of the final waltz. Ichabod mumbled an apology every time his foot stepped on top of mine, and I completely missed the fourth pattern during the line run, but I hardly noticed as I was lost in the waltzing tempo of my own heart. When the music seized, we both stood catching our breaths, almost laughing aloud at our comedic performance.

"What a fine couple we made," I giggled. "I do believe the whole room was laughing at us."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Ichabod said slowly removing his hand from where it rested on my back. "But I _did_ warn you."

At that moment, the grand clock bellowed its chime reminding us that it was eleven O'clock. I stared at it in disbelief like there was some possible way it was mistaken. "So late already?"

Ichabod pulled his gold pocket-watch from the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'm afraid so," he said snapping the lid shut after he confirmed the time. "I do think it best if we took our leave, don't you?" he questioned. "We have yet a long journey tonight."

"You're probably right," I nodded in agreement. We gave the DeBoises' our farewells and thank-yous and they wished us the best on our journey home.

A thick blanket of snow had accumulated on top of the carriage when we arrived. The horses slept lightly as they waited and perked their ears when they heard us approach. John sat hunched in his coat on the diver's seat, blowing on his hands to keep them warm. His face glistened pale purples and grays from the cold. "There you are Master Crane," he said shivering as he opened the door. Ichabod and I climbed into the coach, and the blacks pranced excitedly when John cued a brisk jog.

"Thank you," I finally said, my breath exiting my mouth in a white fog. It had been several minutes since we had set out, and no one had said a word. Silence occurred often between Ichabod and I, probably because we both felt uncomfortable in each other's presence, but every time it did, it felt as if a noose were tightening around my neck.

"No, thank you," he smiled, his lips a dull purple in the cold and minimal moonlight. "You have done so much for me these past few months."

"As have you." I paused and took a breath. "Ichabod, do you remember when we met?" I asked shakily. "That day in the meadow when I was picking flowers and you suddenly appeared and said _Apparently I'm not the only one who finds the peace in this meadow comforting_… And I replied saying _Yes I_ –"

"…_Had found that the meadow was rather comforting_," Ichabod finished my sentence. "Yes, Melanie, I remember it. I think about it everyday." He finished in a whisper and I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"Then you don't regret ever meeting me?" tears brimmed my eyes as I waited for the truth.

"Oh Melanie," he brushed his fingers along my jaw line. "Never think that…ever. Promise me," He looked searchingly into my eyes in an assertive way I did not recognize. He held my head in his palms and brought our faces close so that my eyes could not leave the concerning, demanding gleam of his own. "Promise me," he said, and I could feel the soft waft of his breath kissing the tip of my nose.

"I promise," I whispered.

"I never regret anything," he continued. "You can't change the past, so why be sorry?"

"I don't know," I shrugged my shoulders and looked into his eyes that were like a magnet drawing me closer to him. I could feel the shallowness of his warm breath against my face as I whispered in his ear. "Then you wouldn't regret this?" I hesitantly put my lips to his mouth and waited intensely for rejection or consent. At long last, the instant came when I felt his lips tentatively respond to mine pressing nervously against my tender flesh.

I didn't let go, because if I did it would be like letting go of life itself. I felt his gentle fingers entwining my auburn ringlets and I glided my hand to the back of his neck. Finally our lips parted and I laid my head against the seat breathing heavily. If only I wasn't wearing this damn corset, I thought. Ichabod brushed his fingers through his hair and I stared out the window as the trees wondered past. "There have been times," I said. "Many times, when I wonder why things have to be the way they are. I sometimes wonder how my life would be if I never had met you – where I'd be, what I'd be doing, who'd I be with? But then I'd realize that my life would be nothing without you. And that I'd rather wake each day knowing you're a part of my life, even though I could never have you, or love you and be certain you loved me back, than waking up each day never knowing you existed because just knowing you gives me a reason to breathe." Tears erupted from eyes and I sobbed uncontrollably. Ichabod took me in his arms and held my head against his heart, cooing and comforting me and running his fingers through my hair and kissing the crown of my head. And then I cried even more because this is what I had wanted for so many years, ever since I was a little girl – loving arms to embrace me and hold me close and tell me everything would be alright even if it wouldn't be. I wept until I ran out of tears to weep, and then I just sat in Ichabod's arms as the rocking of the carriage, Ichabod's comforting scent and soothing words lulled me to sleep. Little did I know, tears fell silently from Ichabod's eyes as well, rolling down his cheeks onto the top of my head.


	20. Lost in Love

CHAPTER TWENTY

LOST IN LOVE

Ichabod and I each retired to our separate rooms when we finally arrived home. Throughout the long journey back, I rested calmly in Ichabod's arms, and groggily allowed him to escort me to the house when John began to unhitch the horses. I contemplated on brewing a kettle of tea, as I was still quite chilled from the biting air, but for some unknown reason, I ascended the stairs to my room, my eyes puffy and cheeks salt-stained from my tears.

Lighting the lamp on the desk, I slithered from the silk gown and laid it on the bed. I struggled with the laces on the back of the corset, and soon grew hot with frustration when the breath pilfering confinement did not ease. "If I knew which man invented such a cruel garment, I'd slaughter him with my bare hands," I moaned and collapsed onto my bed.

I thought of Ichabod. He hadn't slept a night since I had stayed with him, and I knew he wasn't at all likely to be sleeping now. "Well Constable," I muttered to myself rising to my feet. "You assisted getting me into this thing, and now you're going to assist me in getting out."

Wondering though the hallway, the wooded floor felt cold and numbing on the soles of my feet. Not a light guided by way, but my pupils adjusted to the darkness and I experienced no difficulties making my way down the corridor. A weak radiance crept from under the crack of the door, and that was the only confirmation that Ichabod was wakeful. I placed my hand to the door, knuckles white as I went to knock, but I didn't. Instead, it seemed like I froze in time, my hand seizing in midair. A nauseating sensation swept over me that over me made my knees tremble. I was dreaming. Everything had been a dream, creations of the dictatorship of my own imagination. And now I was returning to that nightmare that had caused me to wake drenched in sweat so chronically before.

It was in that nightmare when darkness would enclose lethally around me, the luminous and vibrant light erupting from the vast barrier of the door, and I wanting to scream at the top of my lungs, wanting to die, wanting only the existence of sound. Yes, I thought - If I'm indeed dreaming, when I knock, there'll be no sound, and the fate of this dream will be of like that of all the others.

I held my breath. This vital moment would change everything; revealing the ruthless facts of reality from those of my fictional dreams, nightmares, and fantasies. How I longed for it to be real. If it were not, it would leave me to question the authenticity of everything else in my life. I delicately knocked on the door, quivering, as if the door itself were crystal and would shatter if I knocked too hard. There was a slight tapping from my knuckles' footsteps, and although dim, these footsteps were as strident as thunder, even it seemed, rumbling the ground.

Relief filled every bone in my body. Everything was true, nothing the dream I had dreaded. I felt like crying, and if I had not shed every tear that existed in my body earlier, I would have began crying then. But at the moment, my tear well was dry.

I could hear the faint shuffle of Ichabod's feet as he neared the door, and could hardly see his face as he opened the door a crack wide enough only to see the person who had called upon him at such an hour of the night. "Melanie?" he asked rather sleepily and puzzled.

For a moment I had thought he was sleeping before I disturbed him, and a pang of guilt twisted my insides, but quickly demolished when I noticed a book resting beside a low candle on an end-table near a chair. "Yes, Ichabod. It seems as if…" but Ichabod interrupted me.

"You're well aren't you? Nothing's wrong?" he asked opening the door inviting me in. His face was completely covered by a shadow, as the single flame from the candle was the only light the room offered.

"Oh yes, I'm quite well." I said. "But I also seem to be having troubles trying to get out of this dreadful garment as well."

Ichabod blushed when I stepped into the dismal light only clad in the nominal corset. "It's just the knot on the back of this thing. I can't seem to get it undone." I smiled in attempt to ease his embarrassment and turned my back to him. "I swear I'll never wear another corset as long as I live," I stated as Ichabod's fingers worked the laces. Letting out a sigh of relief, I felt the corset lighten its deathly grip. Although I was quite thin, the corset's ideal contour was far different from my own.

Goosebumps formed rigid and tight on my skin and the cool air swathed my back, newly exposed, as the laces pulled apart. I held the front of the garment with an anxious hand, but it seemed like twenty-six years had passed before Ichabod said anything.

"There," he spoke nervously and struggled with that single word. But even with that said neither one of us shifted. I felt the intensifying heat of the moment, like stepping from shadows into daylight for the first time.

Ichabod moved closer until I could feel the subtleties of his breath on the sensitive flesh of my neck. I gasped when I felt his hand tenderly sweep up my spine and in the valley between my shoulder blades. I turned my head toward him and my eyes met his own. They glimmered of fear and trepidation – like the last live ember in a pile of ash. His vacillating lips drew closer to mine and he was hesitant and uncertain. But in that moment when our lips met, it was as if adding timber to that of a blazing fire. We kissed ardently and hungrily, his fingers caressing my head, like nothing else mattered, because in that moment nothing else did.

"Everything is telling me this is wrong," he said pulling away. "Everything but my heart."

"I know. I know," tears were streaming down my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around his neck. "We're so stupid! We're so stupid, Ichabod!" I cried burying my head into his chest. He froze for a moment, not knowing what to do, as if he were contemplating the gravitates of what was about to happen.

In the next instant, his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him, his mouth firmly against mine. He kissed me more intensely than I ever knew possible and I found myself kissing him back. We made our way to the bed, like we were the last two people on Earth free of the many complications and impediments of our existence. And with that, I found myself completely vulnerable in his arms, not giving a damn about what would happen tomorrow, or next week.

We collapsed onto the sea of emerald velvet, forgetting everything, forgetting who we were – just two people caught in the midst of love. "You're sure about this?" I asked shakily. Ichabod paused and blew out the candle in one sizzling breath. As Darkness dominated the room, luminescence dominated my mind.

"More certain than anything in my life," he softly breathed and his fingers delicately traced my lips like they were more valuable than a gem itself.


	21. The Dark

THE DARK

CHAPTER 21

Rousing from a dream-absent slumber, the rime of my azure eyes shimmered with the iridescent of magic. Ruddy curls dangled from my head, falling carelessly over the pillow like weightless silk. Glancing at the body beside me, my heart seemed to soar in the incarceration of my chest.

Unable to contain my emotions that yearned to combust, I smothered my head into my pillow and let out a muffled shriek of excitement, pleasure, and contentment. I shyly peeked out from the softness of the cushion to see if my frivolous actions had disturbed Ichabod. He hadn't stirred.

His exposed back was towards me, an aberrant pasty white. However, for some reason it was as stunning, and as pallid, as the first snowfall of winter. When powder would envelop the land for miles and miles; miles of perfection before the first footprint could compress and flaw the delicate substance. His muscles, it seemed, resembled those of a strong stallion's quivering beneath it's skin. I stealthily brought my lips to the summit of each of his shoulder blades and could taste the salt of his skin on the tip of my tongue.

Peering over his shoulder, I noticed a slight flicker of his eyelids and an evident smile spread across his lips. "You wretch! You were awake the whole time, weren't you?" I smacked his arm lightheartedly. Planting a quick peck on his cheek, I rolled over and exhaled a sigh of complete bliss.

There was nowhere else I'd rather be, no other person I'd rather be with. For once in my life I had the whole world dangling at my fingertips, and though foreign, this feeling was worth all the determination and motivation one could endure. Here I was with this man who held my heart so gently in the palm of his dimpled hand, and it was everything I imagined it would be. Well, almost, anyway.

We disregarded that minor detail that Ichabod was married, and that left me to question what marriage really was. After all, it only was a piece of paper, wasn't it? I rationally knew that little detail would and could destroy everything – everything Ichabod and I had. I couldn't let myself think that we wouldn't last, but I knew very it well it was true. As soon as Katrina returned from Delaware we'd be over. Just Like that – over.

And yet I didn't regret anything, nor would I. In the next few days, I'd live my life like those days would be my last and just being in Ichabod's arms for that limited amount of time was far the merit of the consequences it would instigate. Little did I know that the more I found myself lost in Ichabod's arms, the more I longed to be when I wasn't.

After the morning meal, which we discovered neither one of us wanted, we spent the remainder of the day curled up on the davenport in front of a roaring fire. Outside, snow hurled from the skies in Mother Nature's fury, and every house in Sleepy Hollow seemed isolated from the rest of the town with their shut shutters, closed doors, and warm hearths to mingle next to.

I rested my head on Ichabod's shoulder as he read aloud to me from a book of English Literature and found myself dozing off to the melodic rhythm of his voice. Everything was perfect, and when we retired to his bed after darkness had fallen upon the small town, Ichabod slept effortlessly and serenely through the night. My mind on the other hand, flourished.

The dark. The dark swarmed around me like a carnivorous predator moving in for the kill. The room was smaller now, but the luminescent under the door was brighter – closer, friendlier. I don't know what brought my fists to the hard wood of the door or why I opened my mouth preparing to scream at the top of my lungs. I knew in this room sound was nonexistent and even if it were, no one would hear my distress. Nevertheless, I pounded the vast door and almost fainted when the resonance reverberated stridently in the atmospheric tension. I took a step back like the door would burst open within that second. What was happening to me? What kind of wicked hoax was this?

My screeching pierced the air like a wounded animal, and I hurled myself at the door with a collision that sent me to the cold floor beneath me. "Help me! Anyone! Help me!" I tried to sallow my tears of fury, but I couldn't contain them and they spewed from my eyes, scorching my cheeks. My voice was distant and airy like I hadn't spoken a single word for years. I bashed my fists into the wood again until I felt the flesh rip from my knuckles and the angry tears blinding my eyesight.

I heard it and I paused panting for the precious air that seemed so limited in this confinement. It was so faint and muffled that I could hardly hear it, but grew stronger with every call. My heart began to hammer against my chest and my eyes widened with horror that grasped a hold of me in a lethal grip. A strong gust blustered through the room and within it's icy and paranormal current, it harshly whispered my name.

"Melanie!" It wailed like a choir of specters. "Melanie!"

"What do you want from me? I madly screamed as loud as I possibly could. "What the hell do you want?"

And then the wraithlike wind swallowed me, and swept around me chanting my name quicker and faster and louder. I firmly shut my eyes and froze as if death were to claim my very soul for satin himself.

Then I felt something; a thick liquid trickling onto my head, running down my cheeks and into the corners of my mouth. I tasted the salty and tart warmness of blood on my tongue. I spun around and cried the fear and horror that had possessed every single bone in my body. The incise in the door, the compass rose, radiated a ghastly white and blood seeped from the cracks of the engravement dripping on to my flesh.

"Ichabod!" I cried the name of the only person I trusted, the only person I knew who would rescue me and protect me with his life.


	22. Comforting Arms

CHAPTER 22

COMFRTING ARMS

I sprung into Ichabod's comforting arms, shaking and breathing heavily.

"Shhh…" he tried to calm my unsettled nerves. "You're safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you," he cooed running his fingers through my sweat-drenched hair. He pulled away from me to examine my traumatized eyes, but when he did, his reaction was hardly soothing. His face drained of what little color it held, his dark eyes unsustainable, and he silently gasped, horrified. "Melanie, your-your face!" He brought a quivering finger to my temple and wiped away a vibrant red liquid. Fresh Blood. "You must have hit your head when you were trashing around," he attempted to rationalize, rubbing his fingers together. Lighting a small candle by the bedside, he examined my face closer. "And yet there is no open wound for which blood can be of exposure," he muttered baffled, and then instantly his eyes grew wider when his memory pegged him, and he quickly looked down into his palms. "Well then," he cleared his throat nervously. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" he stood up and brought me a cloth from the wash basin – obviously avoiding the query of how the blood appeared on my face.

I deftly wiped the blood from my face, now slightly dried and sticky. My mind kept on flashing back to the dream, hazy like it had occurred years ago. The blood pouring from the rose, the surreal light from under the door, and the chilling cries of my name; they all branded themselves into my brain, not letting me forget. Ichabod slowly opened the door to the room, and even that made me jump.

"I thought you might like some tea," he handed me the cup brimming with chamomile and raspberries. I smiled thankfully at him, but couldn't put the china to my lips because my hand was shaking so badly. "Oh Melanie, the worst is over," he reassured me, squeezing my hand.

"Is it?" I questioned him. "How can you expect me to believe the worst is over when hasn't even begun?" I stared at him with cold eyes of doubt and dread.

Ichabod let go of my hand and said nothing. He laid back down next to me and let out a sigh. "You'll be okay?" he turned his head toward me, his eyes gleaming with concern. I nodded and set the full cup on the bedside table.

Blowing out the candle with a hesitant breath, I gently rested my head onto his chest. I could hear the soft strumming of his heart against my ear, and the slight rising and falling of his chest with each breath relaxed my tense muscles. "I love you," I whispered. For the first time in my life, I spoke that three-worded phrase, but ever since I first laid eyes on Ichabod, I knew they would be directed towards him.

No answer. I hadn't expected one; not from Ichabod. But when he embraced me with his loving arms, held me close, and made me realize there was no where else I'd rather be, I knew he was saying that small three-word phrase back.


	23. Katrina's Return

Author's Note:

I know it's been a dreadfully long time since I posted an Author's Note, perhaps 20 chapters, and I apologize. I want my readers to know how much I thank and appreciate them. It's been a pleasure sharing this story with you.

I want to specially thank my wonderful friend, pumpkinpuss, for sticking with me and encouraging me. Without you, I know this story wouldn't be up here. Thank you for helping me with my confidence.

Another issue of thanks goes to MrsLoDepp and Erica from DI. You guys are fantastic and I love your kind words.

My good friend, Emilie, thank you! You spend two hours reading this yesterday and I was just tickled and amazed and thankful. You're awesome (oh and I did correct the mistakes you found regarding Van Garret and Van Dan…my editing skills just shine through, don't they?).

Also thanks to anyone I forgot. I don't mean to forget you, but you have helped so much. You guys are just amazing.

On with the story! There's still quite a lot left. I hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER 23

KATRINA'S RETURN

The day I hoped would never come came as quickly as I feared. When I heard the crisp clip-clop of horse hooves and the creaking of wooden wheels out front, I shut the cover of the hardback I had been reading with a nervous hand. After I returned the volume to its rightful place on the shelf, I slowly walked over to the window. I thought that by if moving slowly, I might be able to slow the passing of time as well. Peering out of the cold glass, I saw Ichabod helping Katrina out of a coach that appeared to have seen better days. Katrina wore a black and white striped winter dress with a mink muff as white and downy as the snow. The black stripes of her dress were the only part of her the silhouetted against the powdered earth. She had hardly placed a foot on the ground before she threw herself into Ichabod's arms and kissed him pleasantly on the cheek. Whispering something in his ear, Ichabod sincerely smiled and grabbed her bags from the cab. He escorted her up the walk and my heart twisted with jealousy. "He's so happy to see her," I mumbled aloud. That's it, I thought. We're over. My heart sank and tears burned my eyes, as I reluctantly had to force myself to face the realism of the situation.

"Yes, I'd imagine he'd be happy to see her," a voice bellowed from behind me causing my bones to leap from my skin.

"John!" I gasped turning around. "Wh-what are you doing here?" I questioned nervously.

"It was my duty to inform you that Mrs. Crane has returned," John grinned smugly and walked over to where I was standing. "You'd think they're in love," John said looking out at Ichabod and Katrina from behind the drapes.

"Why are you being to ignorant?" I questioned shortly. "A fool could see they're in love." That last statement parted my lips in a whisper. I had intended for it to be a lie because my heart was convinced Ichabod loved only me, but as I gazed at the two of them, I wasn't so sure.

"Thank you John," I finally said irritated. "You may leave now." John obliged willingly; pleased he had struck a nerve that would take a long time to heal.

Katrina's jovial laugh rang out in the foyer when they entered. Odd, I thought, for a woman whose aunt has just been laid to rest. But I entered the foyer with a grin on my face, and tried my best to appear optimistic. On the inside, though, I was trembling with fear. "Melanie!" Katrina greeted me with an embrace that made me want to recoil. Did she always have to be so, so cheerful? Her aunt just died for God sakes, and here she was hugging me like she hadn't seen me for decades.

"Melanie," Ichabod gestured to the luggage he had set by the door. "Could you?" he asked.

"Yes, of course." I said relieved Ichabod had given me an excuse to leave Katrina's unwanted presence. I took the bags and started to ascend the staircase.

"Just a moment," Katrina said. "You really don't have to tend to those yourself. I'm quite sure I can manage. Please forgive my husband's demanding temperament," she chuckled lightly and looked at Ichabod. "You must have worked like a slave while I was away."

"I could hardly consider your husband's requests demanding," I tried not to sound as offended as I felt, but still my cheeks flushed with a slight jolt of resentment. "Your husband was quite kind to me, you need not to worry," I forced my lips to form a reassuring smile.

"Very well," Katrina said. "Then I shall help you with my things." She followed me up the stairs, her black and white stripes gliding swiftly behind her. "We'll be not but a moment," she shouted down to Ichabod before she disappeared into the hallway.

"It's such a pleasure seeing your faces again," Katrina mentioned while I handed her her belongings from the deep crevasses of the suitcases. She bustled about the room, returning this to drawers, or hanging that in her wardrobe. "And I never imagined the day when I'd be so relieved to see color again," she looked admirably at the pale blue dress I was clad in and sighed when I handed her two black gowns, black fur adorning the collars and sleeves. "If I see another black dress, I'm going to scream," she stated bluntly holding one of the dresses against my slim figure. "Here, take them," she said throwing the two items of clothing into my arms. "I'll never wear them again, and they really do suit you."

"I really couldn't…" I tried to object.

"Nonsense," Katrina interrupted before I could finish. "Besides my husband wears enough black for the both of us." I suddenly felt like vomiting at the mention of Ichabod. This is his wife, I thought, staring at Katrina as she returned a few select pieces of jewelry to their box. His wife. My heart caught ablaze and a simple "thank you," was all I could say.

"She was ill for a long time," Katrina looked at me with saddened eyes and for a brief instant I felt a pang of penitence at my harsh feelings toward her. "It was just her time… and it'll be better for her this way." I didn't know what to say or do to comfort her, not that I wanted to, but I felt that I had to.

"It's hard, but everything will be just fine," I finally said realizing Katrina was still in mourning and perhaps struggled expressing her grief. "It's okay to cry," I whispered, but not as the Melanie who felt hatred for this woman, but as the Melanie who wanted to console this woman's weeping heart. I knew she'd do the same for me.

Katrina snuffled and nodded with a compelling grin on her face. "I know," she said. "How did you two fare here?" she asked in desperate attempt to change the subject. For a moment, it was as if I forgot how to speak, and I froze. "Um, fine." I finally replied. "It was fine." Katrina smiled warmly at me. She had been through so much these past couple of weeks, that she failed to notice the obvious nervousness in my voice. The conversation seized for several minutes as Katrina continued to sort through her belongings.

"John seems to really fancy you," she said abruptly, folding a pair of leggings.

"Pardon?"

"John; He seems rather attracted to you, wouldn't you say so?"

"I haven't noticed." I lied.

"Really? It's quite evident."

"What are you suggesting, Katrina?"

Katrina tried to compress a smile from her face. "It would be a smart match."

"You're serious?" I could hardly contain my laughter. But I must remain inconspicuous about things, I reminded myself. If I told Katrina I harbored no feelings toward John, she might suspect something between Ichabod and I. "You really think so?"

"Of course."

"Well, he is attractive," I reasoned.

"Try gorgeous." Katrina said with a grin on her face, but it was only rarely a man was considered "gorgeous." However, this be said, it was an honest statement. John was handsome, brawny, and charming.

My mind wondered back to the midst of October, although the day wasn't warm, I recalled the sweat gleaming bare back of John, his muscles rippling with every movement, as he worked fervently repairing a pasture fence. To any other woman, this sight could have caused a lead ball to sit heavily in the deepest pit of their stomach, but to me, it did nothing more than cause me take notice. My mind was far too love-ailing to think of any man other than Ichabod.

"Katrina!" I gasped, a hand flying to conceal my open mouth. "You're married!"

"I can still look, can I not?" she questioned blushing.

"I suppose it can't do any harm," I tried to sound averse, but you'd have to be blind or insane to not consider John at least attractive.

I closed the door behind me in a state of degradation, as my unfortunate soul hung so listless in my body. There was nothing for me to do except lay wide-awake in a bed I hadn't occupied for so long. Katrina had returned and that altered everything. Every effort I had poured my blood and sweat into was gone. Not that it mattered anyway – now that Ichabod was taken from me, I had nothing. But you never really _had_ him, I told myself. You always knew he was Katrina's.

"She doesn't even know him," I whispered to the emptiness around me. "Not like I do."

In fact, at the afternoon meal, we sat around the table filled with mutton, biscuits with real honey, carrots, and baked potatoes. Right in front of Ichabod, Katrina set a colossal bowl of cauliflower, and even went as far as to fill his plate with the manila, warty vegetable. Ichabod hates cauliflower. Despises it, and throughout the entire meal, I discreetly observed Ichabod's face. His expression was one of disgust, and he stared at it like a woman would when throwing a dead mouse out of her house by its tail.

I glanced at the shadowy walls that towered above me and realized how lonesome I felt, how heavy my heart hung from its strings. I wondered if Ichabod would sleep in tranquility tonight, his mind unbound by demons and malicious nightmares. And then I wondered if I could live through each morning waking up and not see Ichabod's face lying next to me. Judging by how my heart shed its tears, I had my doubts.


	24. Farewell

CHAPTER 24

FAREWELL

The moment came when the western sun was soon to vanish beyond the horizon, shedding an imperial orange through the room. The door burst open and Ichabod stormed in, his hair hanging out of place, his nostrils flaring frenetically, and exasperated breaths left his mouth in pants. "We have to talk," he vigorously said.

"Ichabod, what on earth?" I asked stunned. "I consider this most irregular…"

"That doesn't matter."

"Then please, what is the purpose of this…this intrusion?"

"It's about us," he slammed the door with a force that rumbled the wall. "I can't do this, Melanie!" For the first time I noticed aggression and madness I had never seen before glimmer in the coldness of his eyes. "It's not fair to you, to me…to Katrina!" My mouth turned dry and my heart began to beat faster. I rose to my feet and walked over to his heaving side, placing a timid hand on his shoulder.

"Ichabod, no. Please don't…" I whispered. He turned his head to face me, and his eyes, dark and aloof, gored into my every organ.

"Is this what you want?" he pressed me up against the wall and I could feel my blood vessels explode as his thumbs pressed into the tender flesh of my arms with a strength I never knew existed in such a placid soul. "Is this what you want…" he hissed and I could feel the moisture of his breath on my cheeks. "…To be my mistress?" I bit my lower lip until it numbed and squeezed my eyelids shut, like if I closed out the world, it would all disappear, and none of this would be happening. I was petrified – not of Ichabod himself, but of his words. He was taking the truth and shoving it down my throat, and I was scared of what would become. "Answer me!" This wasn't the Ichabod I knew – this wasn't the Ichabod I remembered. I opened my eyes and our gazes met, two worlds crashing into each other.

"Yes, this is what I want," my eyes were hurricanes; the black pupils the eyes of the tempests – calm and peaceful, like the feeling you are said to endure the moment after death. My irises were murderous waves, crashing walls of water willing to challenge anything that stood in its path. My tears though, were not hurricanes, but merely raindrops, blistering my cheeks as they rolled so scornfully down them.

"Damn you, Melanie," he whispered harshly. "You're worth so much more than that."

"I'd rather be your mistress than not being with you at all."

"Listen to yourself!" I felt Ichabod's hand quiver as he continued to grasp my arm. "Don't you say it. You're far too good for that."

"I love you, damn it!" I cried as tears blinded my eyes. "Am I too good to say that too?"

Within the next stroke of my pulse, Ichabod's mouth collided with mine so brutally I felt the new formations of bruises on the my tender lips. I winced with pain, but more so with surprise by his fierce actions. I kissed him back, giving myself up completely to his dominance that would have sent me to the ground if it weren't for the wall that supported me. It felt that the whole world had crumbled in ruins around our feet and Ichabod and I, lost in the ecstasy of a kiss, were the last beings standing.

"I can't do this," Ichabod breathed heavily pulling his lips from mine. "It's sinful."

"Odd for a man who harbors neither belief in faith nor sin to say," I said coldly. "I thought life was only sense and reason…cause and consequence."

Ichabod looked at me with pleading eyes. "You must leave, Melanie, and you must understand why. I've arranged for a room for you at Mrs. Tate's boarding house. John will be here before morning to move your belongings. Now please…"

"So that's it then?" I swallowed the lump that kept returning to my throat.

Ichabod nodded his head and my brushed my cheek with a gentle hand. "I'll never regret meeting you, nor everyday I spent with you. Just remember that, Melanie." And then he left me.

I stood frozen in shock, not able to budge, not able to see, not able to feel. If I didn't move, I wouldn't hurt, but the time would come when I would have to endure that lingering, heartrending breath and my heart would wretch and coil, and sting. I inhaled a gulp of shaky air into my lungs and pain swept over me like myriad sabers slowly penetrating into my body, causing the color to drip from my face.

"I regret meeting you, Ichabod Crane! I regret every day I've ever known you! And because of you, I'll never love again!" I screamed at the harsh emptiness around me. I crumpled to my knees, my lips too numb to feel the callous words leave my mouth, my entire body swept away by numbness.

As much as I wanted to believe my raving declaration, I could not. It was a lie. I did not regret ever meeting Ichabod, nor did I regret giving him my heart. As difficult as it was to admit, I did not regret loving him, even though the pain it caused me was immensely unbearable. He taught me to love, and in return loved me back, a feeling I was utterly naïve to. He taught me to trust and open my heart, and now he ripped it from my chest, and left me, it seemed like, to bleed to my death. And yet, I loved him more than I ever knew possible for a woman to love a man.

In a time-absent fury, I began to hurl, pile, and stuff my belongings into my trunk. Everything that was in my grasp went, from dresses and garments, to silver candlesticks. I did not own much, and thus it did not take me long to bare the small room, but I was in such a state of rage that I doubted I could tell six minutes from six hours.

I flung open one of the drawers on the little desk and paused when a leather-bound book caught my eye. Dust had settled lightly on top of the cover, like a freshly fallen powdered snow, and based on this, I knew the book had resided in the drawer for a long period of time. When I thumbed through the pages, my immediate recognition nearly made me drop it. The book was Ichabod's ledger; the ledger I had thieved from his study months prior. I had concealed the book in the desk and as time wore on, I had never finished reading it. I had no idea whether or not I had planned to finish reading it. At the time, Ichabod seemed to be suppressing a secret about the legend of Sleepy Hollow, but now it all seemed rather pointless.

Book in hand, I stared out the window and down over the stables. I noticed Ichabod mounting the grullo and spurring him with fury towards the Eastern Valley. He wore his dark riding pants and boots, but his torso was clad only in a loose fitting white shirt. His mind was uneasy about something; I could tell by the way he sat his saddle, his nerves keeping him hunched forward. I didn't question whether or not I was the one who caused his tension because I knew I was. A ride through the valley would do him good; would sooth his frenzied mind and then perhaps, he would return back to himself, back to the Ichabod I knew.

Turning from the window, I placed the ledger in the trunk. Why I did it, I didn't know, but whenever I touched it's leathers, my spine seemed to tingle and a perturbed sensation fell like a lead ball into my stomach. Perhaps I kept it because I wanted to continue reading it, or perhaps because it was something of Ichabod's I could cling to. Whatever the reason, it was coming with me, wherever I went. I gazed around the vacant room and it seemed so foreign to me. I knew I would miss this place, and I knew I would never would regret coming here – this was home.


	25. Knowing Too Much

CHAPTER 25

KNOWING TOO MUCH

Leaving my trunk in my room, I ventured out to find John. Ichabod said he would be here before morning, but I couldn't bear to face Ichabod now – not after what had happened. Since I knew he had taken leave, it would be the perfect opportunity to have John collect my things and head to Mrs. Tate's with as little confrontation as possible. I didn't entirely want to go to the boarding house, but I knew of nowhere else to set my bearings.

The snow melted under my feet with every footstep, and again, it was another unusually warm evening two days before Christmas. The sky was flawlessly clear, transparent even, and the stars twinkled and waltzed across a moonless sky. I looked about the stables for John, but he was nowhere to be found; he was not in any of the stalls or even in the coach house. Near the tack room, I noticed a vertical ladder leading up into a loft. A faint glow radiated from the opening and curiously, I began to climb up the ladder. "John?" I called. "Are you up here?" I peeked my head through the opening and realized I had entered John's flat. It was small, but well kept for what it was. A bed was pushed back against the far wall, and a table with a single chair stood just beneath a solitary window that looked out over the Eastern Valley. John, himself, was leaning over a pot resting on the small cast iron stove in the center of the room. The sweet aroma of a nameless stew filled my nostrils. "John?" He spun around startled, but his expression was replaced by smile when he realized it was only me who had disturbed him.

"Melanie!" he greeted. Walking over to me, he offered his hand and helped me with the final steps into the loft. His palm was rough from years of hard labor, but warm, and when he took my hand I could feel the capability of his strength even within his light grasp. "It isn't much," he said once I had both feet on the floor firmly inside.

"No, it's uh…lovely." I replied politely looking around.

"I love it though," he smiled sincerely. He walked over to the boiling pot and began to stir its contents. "Being this close to the horses, I couldn't fancy being elsewhere." He continued. "Would you like some?"

"No, thank you. I've already eaten," I stated bluntly. He shrugged and took a bowl from the cupboard over to the stove and ladled the stew, a mixture of carrots, potatoes, and beef, into it. Taking it to the table, he sat down with a sigh and began to spoon the broth into his mouth.

"So, of what do I owe the honor of your presence?" he asked between bites.

"Certainly Ichabod has informed you that I will no longer be residing in the Crane Household."

He stared at me with a mischievous grin. "Why is that? The Constable finally grew too weak to resist your temptations?"

"I should smack you," I said offended.

"I'm not going to stop you, and besides, I didn't say I didn't deserve it."

I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. "I need your help regardless of how you see the situation. And if you refuse, I could very well have you fired."

"Ah, but has one forgotten? You are nothing more than a servant yourself."

"If only you knew," I mumbled to myself. "Anyway, John, it's your choice."

John smiled smugly. "Very well, of what then do I oblige my services?"

"I'm going to the boarding house. My trunk is packed and I'm ready to go." I continued. "And I'd prefer if we left before Ichabod returned from his ride," I added softly. John flashed me a look that made my stomach churn, but it was quickly replaced by a self-conceited grin.

"And you expect me to drop everything and help you?"

I was speechless and fumbled with my words before I said something worth a fragment of decency. "Well, I…no, I don't expect anything of you –"

"Except for this," John interrupted me.

"John, please. I'm asking you because I knew you'd help…and further more, Ichabod said you agreed to help me."

"That's what it is," he chuckled and ran his fingers through his ash blond hair. "Is there not a thought that goes through your head that doesn't have to do with that coward of a Constable?"

"I only asked you to help me with my trunk," I reminded him in a whisper, swallowing nervously. But it seemed as if he didn't hear me.

"You are privy to the fact that Constable Crane is married are you not?"

"How dare such tainted thoughts cross your mind," I scolded. "I can assure you there is nothing more than friendship between Ichabod and I," I added, almost pleading.

"Well then, I suppose if what you say is true, you'll have no problems in fulfilling my requests for a kiss," he smirked and walked closer to me.

"W-w-what?" I stammered.

"A little peck, and then we'll forget all about this conversation and tend to your trunk." He studied his nails waiting for an answer.

"I couldn't possibly…not when…"

"Ah, has the lady of the evening just admitted to seduction?" I raised a hand to smack the leering face of John, his hazel eyes dancing with excitement, but before my palm could collide with his cheek, his hand grasped my wrist.

The next thing I knew, he was kissing me, and it wasn't just a little peck. But his lips enveloped mine, kissing me passionately like he had waited his whole life for this moment. His kiss was different from those of Ichabod's. His kiss was lush with experience and promise, whereas Ichabod's were timid and nervous. And yet, every time I kissed Ichabod it was as if I was reborn, and I didn't feel anything remotely resembling that with John. I loved Ichabod, my heart was his to keep, and I could give it to no other. "Melanie, please." John whispered in my ear. "Give me a chance."

I pulled away from John and by reading the look on his face, I knew it was likely this first time a woman's rejected him. "Sorry," was the only word I could think of saying.

"I'll tend to your trunk," John said coldly brushing past me. He was scowling and his cheeks flourished a deep crimson.

Fury surged through my veins. John was completely amiss for accusing me of having an affair with a married man, whether or not it was true. He knew scarcely knew me, and thus, he had no entitlement to make any accusations about me at all. A vile rogue was more competent then he was, as his vulgar ways were not worth my time. But he was right. I had a feeling deep within my gut that he knew everything.

Picking up my skirts, I scurried after him, climbing quickly down the ladder. He had already begun to hitch one of the geldings to a small buggy when I caught up with him. Working easily and swiftly, his eyes were merely slits in his face and his mouth was set in a paper-thin line. But he couldn't possibly know about Ichabod and me, I told myself. I'm just being paranoid. It's inconceivable and I have nothing to fret about. Even if he had the slightest notion that something was going on between Ichabod and I, I could persuade him to think differently. By doing what he asks of me, I felt I could very well do just that. I knew I would never grow to love another, but I could make John believe that I could.

John had just climbed into the buggy and I quickly clambered in after him. Staring at me through blank and inexpressive eyes, he cued the horses to make way towards the front of the house.

"I'm sorry, John." I said, but he didn't even acknowledge me. It was as if I were not there. "It's just been so long since I've kissed a man before," I lied through my teeth, but I even startled myself at how sincere I sounded.

"And what of the constable?" he asked in a monotonous voice, like he was simply commenting on the weather. He didn't look at me, but his gaze was continually fixed straight ahead.

"As I have said before, Ichabod and I are merely friends, nothing more. You must believe me," I said. "Besides, I'm quite bashful, but I do admit I would be a liar if I said I felt nothing for you."

John finally looked at me with searching eyes. "How can I be certain you're being truthful? I hardly know you."

"Exactly, which is why I considered your accusations towards me most offensive. I don't tell untruths." What was I getting myself into? I was even resorting to lying about lying, but it wasn't like I had planned to say these things, they just sort of popped from my mouth.

"Then why are you so quick to leave?" John questioned.

"Why wouldn't I be? I don't want to be a house-maid forever." I said. "I'm sure you'd be the same way."

John nodded and pulled the horses to a stop in front of the house. "I'll go fetch your trunk," he said. "You have everything?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Very well. You wait here, and I'll return with your things in a moment." He hopped from the carriage and started towards the house.


	26. A New Home

CHAPTER 26

A NEW HOME

John appeared a few minutes later, wrestling with my trunk down the lane. Upon reaching the coach, he heaved into the cab with a grunt and stood breathing heavily, wiping droplets of sweat from his forehead with a discolored handkerchief. "What do you have in that thing, rocks?" he questioned between pants. I only shrugged my shoulders as he climbed into the buggy and took the thick, cracked leather reins.

I looked behind me and gazed at the only place I was ever welcomed into with open arms. It was the only place I felt needed and wanted. Not a flicker of light shone through one of the many glass windows of the manor, and it was only a gloomy mass of shadows in the darkness of the night. It appeared abandoned, more so the abode of scepters, and I expected to see ghastly forms vanish in and about the windows, but the house stood still, as if it hadn't been occupied by neither ghost nor human for decades.

And that's how I felt. My entire body was vacant and empty. I was numb, not even a slight tingling was present. There was no feeling at all. Perhaps it was because the pain that consumed me was far too great to feel.

As the house abruptly disappeared when we rounded a corner, I was hanging onto something that would never be, and yet I could not let go. Ichabod had left me – told me we couldn't be together, but I hung on with white knuckles like my life depended on it, because it truly did. I hid my face from John as tears accumulated in the corners of my eyes. I couldn't let John see me cry, no matter how much pain possessed my heart. Why couldn't I accept the fact that Ichabod and I would never be able to love like a man and a woman should? Why couldn't I accept the fact that Ichabod and I could never walk hand in hand through a meadow of full of blossoms and spring – or attend balls arm in arm while the elders flocked about asking "How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Crane?" I couldn't accept these facts because my very existence depended on them. These facts were purely lies. Ichabod loved me, and one day, even if it were well into the hereafter we would be together, and until then all I had to do was wait.

John halted the horses in front of a two-story building constructed of shale gray stone. Shutters hung crookedly from single hinges that surrounded fractured windows. Shingles threatened to plummet from the roof and the structure itself looked like it could barely survive a slight breeze from the north. "Here we are," John said briskly hoping from the driver's seat and hoisted the chest from the buggy. He followed me up an indistinct dirt path and waited as I knocked patiently on the door of splintered wood. Secretly, I hoped no one would answer, and I thought just that the moment prior to when John said "Just go inside," in a struggling grunt.

A squeak wailed from the hinges when I opened the door, as if it were an old woman moaning when she stretched her limbs. A coal black cat darted from the house and in between my legs letting out a high-pitched screech that I didn't know possible from the vocal cords of a feline. I proceeded into a dimly light foyer and John followed closely behind. He nudged the door shut then let the trunk plunge from his clasp. The chest punched into the aged floors with an echoing thud causing a cloud of dust to erupt from the ground.

"John," I hissed then began to gaze around the room, concealing a look of disgust on my face. A wooden bench pushed against the far wall was the only furnishing in the room. It was grayer than wood should be, for it was encrusted with a thick layer of dust. Opposite the bench a staircase ascended upwards disappearing into a black passage that caused a chill to cloak my bones. The only indication that a person occupied the house was a small candle; it's solitary flame on the verge of death, resting on the first step of the staircase. How odd it was for a candle to be sitting there, but for some reason, it didn't seem out of place in this gloomy edifice.

"Well, just our luck. It appears that no one's home," I said walking swiftly back to the door, anxious to leave the nerve-rending atmosphere of the house.

"Just a moment there, Freckles. You're the one who wants this, remember?" John said taking a hold of my arm. "Hello?" he shouted at the ceiling. The house didn't stir, save for the dull reverberating of his voice.

"Are you satisfied now?" I asked annoyed, taking my arm from his clutch and crossing my arms in front of my chest. "No one's-"

"What the hell do you want?" A raspy voice bellowed from the darkness at the top of the stairs.

I instinctively moved closer to John, and I felt his hand lightly clench my shoulder in reassurance. "The people seem friendly," he whispered in my ear as a hunched over woman emerged from the darkness. She had hair as white as snow plastered to her neck in a braided bun. Shale eyes hid under frosted, bushy brows, and she had cheeks, empty bags of flesh, which sagged to her bowed shoulders. Set is a thin line, her lips were withered almost into nothing, and time had taken toll on her protruding cheekbones, causing them to appear more skeletal than mortal. However, my eyes were drawn to an enormous wart that jutted from her wrinkled chin and a single black hair sprouted from its succulent center.

"You're that Crane girl, aren't you?" the woman breached as she hobbled down the last step of the stairs. She eyed me with a critiquing stare, her left eye twitching. Her face resembled a hawk's, with piercing eyes and an oversized beak of a nose. Though she stood no taller than my shoulder, I knew she would be no one to mess with.

"Not exactly," I gulped. "I'm Melanie Olsen. You're Mrs. Tate?"

"Humph," the old woman barked. "This way."

John and I followed the woman up the stairs and to a room at the end of a long dark hallway. We waited as the woman fumbled with the key in the lock, but the door swung open momentarily, and she quickly struck a match and lit a small candle. Together, the three of us huddled in the small room, and within the trivial flicker of the candle, the woman appeared to be a haunting, deformed creature. John set the trunk down in the center of the room, and I could see a fait gleam of disturbance in the whites of his eyes. There was something about the house he didn't like. There was something about the house that I didn't like either, but I couldn't place my finger directly on it. Though small, the room was furnished; a bed was pushed up against the nearer wall, and a wardrobe sat opposite of that. A rocking chair sat at an angle beneath a rounded window that stared out at Sleepy Hollow completely embraced by the darkness of the moonless night.

"I'll expect you to keep in good condition," Mrs. Tate screeched. "Dinner's served at six, and curfew ten; no visitors past the hour. I collect rent on the first of every month and it's fifty cents per week. Is this understood?"

I only nodded.

"Good. I'll leave you to tend to your belongs then," And with that she shambled out the door.

"You'll become used to it shortly," John tried to reassure me when he saw the awkward expression on my face. "No need to fret."

"I hope so," I murmured opening my trunk and rummaged through its contents.

"I don't suppose you need my assistance in getting settled,""

"No, but I appreciate your assistance earlier, thank you." I didn't even lift my gaze from my trunk.

"I'll see you around town then?"

"Yes."

"I really do like you, Melanie," he blurted and then quickly, his cheeks turning red, hurried towards the door.

"John," I said and he stopped and turned to look at me. "If I don't see you, Merry Christmas."

"You too," he said and smiled before he disappeared into the dark hallway.

I gazed out the window, watching the buggy topple back towards the house. I was alone once again, and my heart hung heavy in my chest. I didn't know why I why I was afraid to love John. He seemed like a man who would care for me and love me, even if I didn't love him, even if he knew I loved another. What if I could end my life in Sleepy Hollow? What if I returned to the city and started a new life…a loveless life? I could become an alcoholic barmaid and slowly erase Sleepy Hollow from my mind. But Ichabod would always bear my heart, and it was because of that I could not leave.


	27. Sacrifice for Love

CHAPTER 27

SCARIFCE FOR LOVE

Christmas day arrived before I knew it, and I awoke to the light tolling of bells from the Church across the way. A light snow had fallen like silk over the town, and from my window, I could see the town gathered outside the vast door of the Church, waiting to be seated for the Holy Mass. I noticed Mrs. Tate hunched over, wrapped in a raggedy shawl near the back of the crowd, and John standing awkwardly as all the young girls, donned in their finest ribbons, introduced themselves and wished him a happy holiday. He was polite of course, but remained distant from their charm. I recognized Katrina, in velvet green, near the front of the assembly, chatting and laughing aimlessly among other women.

Ichabod wasn't among the joyful crowd, nor would he be, and neither would I. He didn't attend services because of the demanding ways of his murderous father. He had abandoned his faith as a small boy, only at the minimal age of seven. The death of his mother had caused the death of his faith as well. I had never harbored faith. Not having the loving arms of a mother, or those of a father, I simply had neither reason nor incentive to believe in a greater power. To me, the world was a brutal and harsh place, and life was only the state before death – I knew no different.

A light drumming at the door interrupted the caroling bells and I jumped slightly.

"Melanie," Ichabod whispered when I opened the door. I wanted to leap into his arms and tell him how much I hated it here, how much I wanted to return to his home – my home. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, above everything else. But I didn't.

"Good Morning, Constable." I opened the door and invited him in. He looked around the room, revulsion hinting in his eyes, but it quickly vanished when he brought his mind back to what he had come for.

"Melanie, I forgot to give you something when you left," Ichabod reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a cloth bundle. When he placed it in my hands, I felt the heavy weight of the coins as they settled into my palm.

"I don't take charity," I said crossly and attempted to hand the bundle back to him, but he refused to take it.

"It isn't charity."

"What is it then?"

"Please, Melanie, just take it and don't ask questions. "

I placed the heavy bundle in the front pocket of my apron and Ichabod grinned with satisfaction. "How are you fairing here?" he asked awkwardly.

I looked around and laughed. "I'm doing well, I suppose." I transferred my gaze to Ichabod. How I longed for his arms to hold me tight and his light kisses to sprinkle the crown of my head. I stared into his face. Dark bags hung from his bloodshot eyes, and his cheeks were pasted a deathly white. "You haven't been sleeping again, have you?" Ichabod opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it again. "I know you, Ichabod," I reminded him. "Just as you know me and the fact that I hate it here."

"What am I suppose to do?" his voice trembled and he clutched his fists. "I've done everything."

"Figure it out yourself, _Constable_." I tried my best to be assertive, but I sounded more like a whimpering dog then anything else. "You know, you're not the only one not sleeping."

"I have to leave," he said walking over to the door. "I have nothing more to say."

"Yes you do," I said. "You just didn't come here to give me the money. You're hiding something, Ichabod. I can see it in your eyes. What did you want to tell me?"

"Three words," he whispered and slammed the door behind him.

I stood like I had been shot, the life draining from my eyes. I was paralyzed, it seemed. Ichabod had come back to me. He came back to tell me three words, and I had been absolutely awful, practically driving him out of my room. My hand drifted to the bundle in my pocket and I timidly unfolded it on my bed. Hundreds of gold pieces emerged from the crevasses of the cloth and my hand brushed gently over them, afraid to touch them, like if I did, they would vanish into thin air. Sitting in front of me was more money than I had ever seen in my life and Ichabod had given it all to me. But why? Did me pity me? I knew he knew that I had not one dime to my name, but such a gift was unheard of. I had enough money, here in front of me, to pay my monthy rent for twenty years and still have more left over than I knew what do with. No longer would I stare through shop windows at dazzling, expensive gowns longing for something I could never have, or at the women who would wear such gowns with envy. I could afford any luxury I desired, and yet, I knew I still wouldn't be happy. There was one luxury, a priceless luxury, this money couldn't buy – and that luxury was love.

I wrapped up the coins again, and tucked them in my trunk. As I did, I noticed Ichabod's ledger resting on top of my heap of belongs, and it seemed to be calling my name to open its leather bindings and consume every word that flowed across it's pages.

And so it was I continued to read the ledger, engrossed, it seemed, by the by the sheer evilness that was concealed within those pages. Not only that, but through the eyes of a man with neither faith nor belief in the supernatural, and whose mind was so contradicted by the spirit world. My heart went out to Constable Ichabod Crane, that day, in empathy. For the man's life was shattered into a thousand tiny glass pieces, and though they were restored, he could still break again, just as easily, with the slightest breeze.

When I turned the page, I gasped sharply at what I saw. Ichabod had drawn a sketch of the tree. It was that surreal tree he feared so, and now I knew why. It was simply called The Tree of the Dead, and it was the Horseman's resting place, the gateway between two worlds, the gateway to Hell.

From this ledger, I knew everything about the sources of evil that possessed this little town. I knew that the Horseman's sword marks his grave, and if the skull is removed, then he would avenge the keeper of his skull, severing heads until his own is returned to him.

Suddenly, as I closed the leather cover of the book, I was hit with a revaluation. It was something brilliant and luminous, something that surged through my veins stronger and faster than any flame of passion. I knew my life would seize to exist without Ichabod. I knew better than anything else that we were meant to be together; dependent on each other like a flower's life is dependent on the sun. But in order for us to be together, to share the passion that yearns so deeply in both of us, someone's life would have to be sacrificed. And that someone would be Katrina.


	28. The Tree of the Dead

CHAPTER 28

THE TREE OF THE DEAD

The frenzied wind slashed my cheeks and numbed my lips. I pulled the hood of my cloak tighter and bowed my head to the ground, only glancing at my feet to ease the torment that the weather brought to my face. In my other hand, I held a small shovel and my fingers seemed to have frozen to the handle. Leaving the boarding house at midnight, I had been traveling for about an hour in the horrifying Western Woods, and the monstrous trees tried to seize me with their menacing branches. Only the hoot of an owl, to my ears, was the call of the devil himself. But my incentive of being with Ichabod Crane forever kept me placing one foot in front of the other until I stood marveling at the trunk of the Tree of the Dead, the horseman's resting place. I gazed up the winding ethereal trunk until the radiance of the moon blinded me.

It seemed like, staring up at the giant, I was born again. This life was free of the impediments of existence. Everything before this moment had been a terrible dream and only now was I waking up. The wind that swarmed around me was no longer cold and arctic, but warm and harbored the fragrance of salt water in its current. "Don't be afraid, Melanie," it seemed to whisper, and I wasn't.

I sauntered around the enormous trunk until I found what I was searching for. Pierced in the heart of the ground was a sword, vines entwining its aged shaft, and yet it gleamed in the moonlight like a sacred entity. To the ignorant, it could have been the resting place of a fallen knight, brave, noble, and without the fear of dying. I knew though, this was anything but. Beneath the cursed ground lay the skeleton of a Hussein who lived his life on a lust for blood and only the severing of heads could quench his thirst. Kneeling down, I ran my trembling fingers over the tang of the murderous weapon before I speared the earth with my shovel and began to dig.

I dug and dug until my hands blistered and ruptured with blood. However, the soil was soft and the earth was easier to break up than I thought it would have been. I had expected it to be frozen, but it surprisingly, it wasn't. Before I knew it, I stared deep into the hollow of the grave, my eyes grazing over the bones that occupied it. Every bone lay in its rightful spot. Worms and other insects scurried in and out the fissures of the aged bones and flesh that had yet to decompose. But something was missing. The one thing that possessed the power of wicked immorality was nowhere in to be seen. The skull of the Hussein was gone.

My heart silenced within my chest, and retching, I fell to my knees. The skull was gone. There was only one explanation, and I knew exactly what it was. It would clarify why the soil of the grave was so soft. It had been disturbed because someone, some mortal, had recently taken the skull from its grave so the Hussein would avenge him or her. "That's why the horseman returns from the grave, to take heads until his own is restored to him." I remembered the words from Ichabod's ledger. Sleepy Hollow was in danger and would soon have to contend with the immortal bloodshed of the horseman once again. I trembled realizing that I was perhaps the only one who knew of this, other than the keeper of the skull himself. But who was he? The faces of the community flashed through my mind and I could think of no one who would evoke such evil.

I knew I had to tell Ichabod. That was inevitable, but how? How would I tell him I knew that the skull was gone without confessing I had dug up the grave and intended to take the skull myself? And for what? To murder his wife? That would go across well. But I couldn't conceal this. It wasn't about me anymore, not now. He had to know the truth.

I hastily filled the groping hole in the ground and made my way back to Sleepy Hollow as fast as I possibly could. The fear had returned to my bones and every snapping twig had me running faster for fear that the Horseman was after me.

Locking the door behind me, I heaved a sigh of relief when I was safely back in my room. I soaked my tattered hands in the cold water of the wash basin, gritting my teeth as the cool water rushed through the dirt filled abrasions. When I finished, I stared out the window expecting to see the Hussein, sword unsheathed, storming after some unfortunate innocent, but the streets were bare, thankfully. Lying beneath the covers of the welcoming bed, I sought an idea on how to go about telling Ichabod my secret. It was only after the passing of several hours I could finally sleep.

A sharp rasping at my door pulled me from my light slumber, and I groggily rose to answer it, my eyes were still glazed from my minimal hours of slumber. It was John. "Did I reach you at a bad time?" he asked when he saw my degraded appearance.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. "No, I just had a long night, that's all. Come in."

"I was wondering why I didn't see you at mass yesterday. I was very much looking forward to see you." He said looking over my shoulder as I proceeded to making my bed.

"I don't attend."

"Like the Constable."

"That's none of your concern," I scolded. "Our reasons are quite different, if you must know. Now what is the purpose of this visit?"

"Do you always have to be so formal?" He asked stepping closer to me.

"Do you always have to be so roguish?" I glared at him and his eyes twinkled mischievously. He grasped my hands, and I winced with pain.

"Your hands!" He said carefully examining each palm, exploding with black and purple blood filled blisters and gashed flesh. "What happened?"

"The washing," I said the first thing that came to my mind, but he didn't question me.

"Do they hurt?" he asked instead.

"I'll live, if that's what you mean," I answered in a whisper as he brought he each one to his lips and kissed them gently. I shivered, but didn't draw my hands away. "John…" I protested.

"No, Freckles." He smiled and then continued kissing my hands and slowly making his way up my wrists. Suddenly, he dropped them. "I was hoping you'd come with me on a ride this afternoon. The horses miss you," he grinned.

"I'd love to." I lied again, but I didn't know what else to say.

I gasped when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer to him. He smelled of hay and horses. "Can I really kiss you now?" he breathed into my ear. I didn't answer as he kissed me passionately and ran his fingers through my hair. I couldn't deny that I didn't enjoy it, but my heart was heavy with guilt and I thought only of Ichabod. He slowly withdrew his lips from mine. "I'll see you this afternoon, then," he said and left my room with a promising smile playing on his lips.

I hurriedly dressed and rushed to the Crane Mansion. I had made a decision. I would tell Ichabod, confess everything, and then I would leave. I couldn't stay in Sleepy Hollow after I made my declaration of guilt, not when he would know every secret that possessed my soul. I would return to New York and start a new life. Ichabod Crane would only exist in my memory, and as hard it was, how enormously difficult it was to admit, I could accept that.

"Ichabod," I breathed when he opened the door and I looked into his eyes. It was those eyes that I had gotten lost in so many times before and at that moment, I realized how scared I was to leave him. He showed me what it was like to love, and that within itself was a gift beyond interpretation.

"Melanie, what a surprise. Please, come in," he opened the door wider and gestured me inside.

I shook my head. "No, I just need to talk to you."

"Then we can talk over tea or–"

"It's not like that. Please, just come with me and don't ask any questions… It'll be easier that way." He hesitated, but grabbed his coat from the hook and shut the door behind him.


	29. The Compass Rose

CHAPTER 29

THE COMPASS ROSE

I took him to a place where neither one of us had set foot in since the day our lives changed forever. For the good or bad, I wasn't certain. The meadow was different though. Now in the midst of winter, snow had consumed the little valley like an ocean of white waves and it was hardly recognizable from when it was erupting with luscious greens and spring from the prior summer. And now I was to say farewell. Tears brimmed my eyes realizing that this was the last time I would gaze into the eyes of my true love, and I let the sharp features of his face chisel into my brain. Time would go on, life would wear on, and yet in my mind, Ichabod's face would always remain the same.

"Why did you bring me here, Melanie?" He asked, snapping my attention back. Tears rolled down my cheeks steadier now, and I wiped them away with the end of my cloak.

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Ichabod. I want you to know that before I begin. " I whimpered and inhaled a breath, preparing for words that would sting my throat. "I've a confession-''

But suddenly Ichabod's face transformed into a sallow lighter than the snow and terror flickered in the blacks of his eyes. "Ichabod?" I asked shakily, but he didn't answer. Instead the lids of his eyes drifted shut and he collapsed into the white powder beneath him. I spun around sharply only for terror to captivate my body more than I ever knew possible. Stampeding toward me, sword unsheathed, was the Headless horseman. He was mounted top a black Spanish steed, whose giant hooves lashed up mounds of snow with each gigantic stride. For a fragment of a second, I just stood there; too paralyzed to move as death itself rushed closer, the blade of his sword, the blade of my fate, gleaming in the sunlight.

I ran. Darting into the trees, I ran my throbbing heart out. I sprinted through the woods as if running from the end of the world. Abruptly, a white horse leaped in front of me, it's legs thrashing in the air as it reared. "Katrina!" I gasped. "Ichabod…the horseman…." I couldn't get the words out of my mouth, but my eyes pleaded with Katrina to help me.

"Why are you running, my dear?" She asked so sweetly, it seemed bitter.

"The horseman!" I screamed, but she only chuckled a possessed little laugh that made my knees tremble.

"Do you want to know a secret?" she asked me leaning forward in the saddle so that her lips grazed my ear. From the depths of her cloak, she uncovered the skull of the horseman. I gasped, and tried to dart away, but she grasped my hair, and I screamed with indescribable pain. "Here she is, horseman! She's all yours!" Katrina called to her avenger and I heard the pulsation of hoof beats as the Hussein neared.

Then he surged into the small clearing; his horse prancing elatedly, white clouds left his flaring nostrils as he heaved each breath. I gazed at the sword again, and saw the horrified reflection of my glacial eyes in its blade. My eyes widened as he came closer. How I desperately wanted to close them, to close out the world and all its agony, but I forced myself to keep them open. I had lived too much, seen too many horrors of the world to close my eyes as death approached me. I couldn't be weak now.

And then I heard it. I heard Ichabod scream my name and I realized I couldn't leave him. Not when he depended so much on me, like I depended so much on him, that he would surely die if I were to abandon him in a world held captive by odium and injustice.

A strength gushed through me when I saw the horseman's sword ready to slice through my neck. I seized Katrina's wrists with a bone breaking grip and yanked her down in front of me. I heard the slashing of flesh and the snapping of bone as the blade ripped through her neck. The warm blood splattered my face and I tasted it on the tip of my tongue as her nerve twitching body collapsed on top of me. The horseman's skull rolled from Katrina's cloak and lay in the glistening snow. Swiftly, the horseman galloped by and his sword pierced his skull in one rapid movement, and then he was gone.

Katrina's head was resting by my left foot, and a surprised expression, her last expression, decorated her face. But I returned my glance back to her neck. The fresh wound was still bleeding, and she wore a necklace, her blood seeping onto the chain. I vomited when I saw it, as the pendent was a rose, a compass rose…the rose from my nightmare. And now, as Katrina's blood rolled down my face as well, it sunk into every crevasse of the rose, every petal. I wanted nothing more than to wake up. This wasn't real. It was only a dream, another nightmare. But as desperately as I wanted to wake up, I couldn't and instead, everything went black.


	30. New Beginnings

CHAPTER 30

NEW BEGINNINGS

"Ichabod," I murmured as my eyes slowly drifted open. "Where are you? Please answer me Ichabod."

"Shh…he's here, but you must not excite yourself." A man with a slightly balding head hovered over me and placed a cool cloth to my forehead.

"No, no!" I sniveled more assertively, and trashed my head from side to side. "The horseman, Katrina…Ichabod!" I shrieked and sat up, drenched in sweat and yet shivering so hard my teeth chattered.

"Be still!" The man ordered, grabbing my shoulders. "Constable, I'm going to ask you not to interrupt me again," he said to a man who had just stormed into the room not moments after my outburst.

"Doctor, it's been almost a week and her delirium has not lessened. She wishes to see me, perhaps that will ease her mind, now please!"

"Very well," the doctor said reluctantly and the man pushed pass him and knelt down at my bedside.

"Ichabod," I whimpered my voice not more than air, but my eyes danced passionately when I saw him.

He took my hand in his own and held it to his lips. "Easy, love," he cooed and I couldn't help the grin that pressed my shriveled lips. He slowly rose, and sat down in the chair beside the bed, not loosening his grip. "How is she, doctor?" he asked, rubbing the flesh on the back of my hand.

"To be frank, trauma such as this should have killed her, but remarkably she'll be just fine." He sighed in bemusement. "It's a God-sent miracle she didn't loose the child."

Ichabod swallowed the lump of disbelief in his throat. "P-P-Pardon?"

"Why she's pregnant, Constable," the doctor stated wryly and I felt Ichabod squeeze my hand tighter as he gazed quizzically in my eyes that shimmered with fresh tears.

"I'm going to have your baby, Ichabod," I beamed feebly and felt his hand go limp. Suddenly, he toppled out of the chair and hit the floor with a thud.

The next three days I spent drifting in and out of a dreamless slumber. I didn't see Ichabod and the doctor said he had told him he wished to be alone. I feared about what might happen, as everything was so complicated that I refused to think about the twists and turns our lives had just endured, and would have to endure. Katrina was dead, and yet that fact had yet to resister. I was pregnant with Ichabod's child, and even that seemed unreal.

My muscles ached to stretch, and my skin yearned for fresh air to swathe my body. The stench of infirmity choked the atmosphere and I wanted to breathe the sharp and untainted air of winter into my lungs. I stiffly rose from the small bed and my legs began to quiver as I put my weight on them, but strengthened with every trivial step. Wrapping my shawl around my shoulders and pulling on my boots, I made my down the stairs and opened the door without much difficulty to face a bleak and dreary day. Heavy clouds hung in the sky, broad with shadowed fullness that seemed like they would burst with only a slight breeze. Some had already begun to leak a weightless snow that fell from the sky as if imperial fragments of opal. I stepped into the snow and felt the tickling pricks of snowflakes kiss my cheeks as they glided without restriction from the sky. I couldn't describe how happy I was to hear the crunching of snow beneath my feet or feel the tear drawing sensation as the icy air smacked the inside of my throat.

I noticed a cab near the stables. The pair of blacks stood lax in their harnesses, a hind hoof of each cocked as they waited. The cab driver sat hunched in his seat smoking a pipe and mumbling something I couldn't comprehend. Curiously, I made my way that direction. When I neared, I saw John walking toward the coach, dressed in a fine suit, a hat atop his sun bleached hair, and a cane hung futilely over his arm. "John, what are you doing?" I asked, tightening the shawl around my shoulders.

"Why, I'm leaving you, my dear." He flashed a smile as if the tragedy that occurred seized to exist.

I stuttered. "What…why?"

"Because," he began candidly taking my hands, "There was only one reason why I stayed in this God-awful town in the first place. And now, you have everything, Freckles – now that Mrs. Crane's dead. Before, I thought I had enough love for the both us. That I could be content only loving you and knowing you harbored lust for another man." I gasped at his vulgar remark, and began to say something, but his look silenced me. "But I soon grew to realize that it was more than merely lust that possesses you, and that I was stupid thinking I had enough love for us both. I see the way he looks at you, Melanie. And I see the way you look at him." He removed his hat and bowed before me before adding in a whisper, "And who am I to stand in the way of true love?" With a final sweep of his hat, he climbed into the coach and within a moment it surged to life and left me standing, thunderstruck, as it rolled out of sight.

I began to shiver, but it wasn't just from the cold. John words echoed in my head like a scream in a deep valley. I rushed back into the house, my mind completely hazy. "Ichabod?" I shouted his name as I ran through the rooms of the house like it was ablaze. Still weak, I coughed and breathed heavily, but I finally found him in the sitting room, staring at the flickering oranges and yellows of the fire in the hearth. "Ichabod?" I whispered and he turned to look at me, the hollows of cheeks a scepter white and his lips the hue of a dying rose. His eyes were different, foreign. They were slightly glazed from the hours he spent looking at the roaring fire, and the dark enchantments that once flourished in his irises were absent. His eyes were dead, like the glassy surface of a lake before the arrival of dawn. And like my own eyes, my heart began to sob and I rushed to his side, throwing myself at his knees. "Please forgive me, Ichabod. I didn't wish for this to happen." I shook with tears and buried my face in my hands. Ichabod brought his finger under my chain and gently raised my head. As I looked searchingly into face, I noticed a stream of tears flowing from the source of each eye. I brought a trembling finger to his cheek and brushed it over the rare tears as if to ensure they were real. They were.

"We're going to have a child," Ichabod grinned exhaustedly, and yet my bottom lip continued to quiver.

"I'm so sorry," I pleaded. "I regret-" but he placed a finger to my lips to silence me.

"No, Melanie. It's not going to be to be that way."


	31. Reason for Living

CHAPTER 30

REASON FOR LIVING

Four months into my pregnancy, my stomach was starting to bulge. Ichabod and I thought it best to keep the pregnancy a secret from the town for as long as possible. The only people who knew were the Doctor and midwife. And even they, did not know the whole secret. Katrina's death was never mentioned. It was if she never existed, like she was a nightmare in the distant past. Ichabod was never the same after that day. A part of him died with Katrina and I believed it was too painful for him to remember and realize his wife did, indeed, possess black magic. He trembled frequently, his insomnia worsened considerably, and he always seemed disconnected and distant. Of course, this all improved in time, but Ichabod was never the same. I comforted him as much as I could, but I soon grew to realize that there was a vacant place in his heart that I could never fill, and I accepted that.

I felt the walls smothering around me and I beat my fists furiously against the door. The white light became intensely brighter under the crack and I screamed when I heard the wails of an infant. I threw myself against the door until it finally burst open. And standing there, the white light illuminating around his body was Ichabod, smiling at me and holding a little girl in his arms.

Ichbod's hand ran through my sweat-drenched hair, soothing me yet again from another dream that haunted my slumber. "Ichabod, I saw you. You were smiling and holding our baby." He looked at me, his eyes filled with longing. "I've been thinking," I continued trying to hint a smile.

"What of?" He asked, the dark bags gleaming under his eyes.

"Us…marriage. Not that I'm purpos– suggesting anything, but hasn't the thought crossed your mind?"

"No," his fingers traced over the gold band on his left hand. "I've already lost the love of my life. There's no purpose…" When he whispered those words, I felt my heart begin to break.

The midwife laid the small bundle in my arms, and tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared into the little heart shaped face of my daughter. Her blue eyes were wide as she looked at me, her mother. Every moment prior to this was nonexistent. In my arms, I was holding my life – my flesh, my blood.

"Shall I fetch the Constable?" The midwife asked. I nodded and it was hardly a moment later when Ichabod entered the room. He looked as if he had endured the hard labor of birth instead of me.

"Meet your daughter, Ichabod." I smiled handing him the baby. He took her carefully into his arms, but it was obvious he had never held a child before. "She's beautiful," he whispered stroking her black patch of hair. She has your eyes." He looked at me and tears brimmed his own. Then, all of a sudden, our daughter reached up with her small little hand and brought it to her father's cheek. He gasped, but then smiled a smile full of love and wonderment, a smile that let me know everything was going to be okay.

"I think you ought to let your daughter and her mother rest, Constable," the midwife said taking the baby into her arms. Ichabod only nodded and made his way out the door, shutting it behind him. "I'm a father," we heard him exclaim outside and then a light thud as he fainted.

Placing my child back into my arms, the midwife smiled at me. I looked at the little bundle of life in my arms. She looked so much like Ichabod and the love I had for her was something I couldn't even begin to describe. I was holding the perfect daughter in my arms.


	32. Epilog Come What May

EPILOG

COME WHAT MAY

Madeleine gave Ichabod a sense to life. He loved her more than life itself. Soon his laboratory was a room to be forgotten, and the nursery in its place. He built the most elegant nursery you could imagine. It was a grand room with a crib platted with gold and silver and red cardinals painted along the wall. Miniature velvet dresses filled the closet and toys and dolls of all different sorts adorned every nick and cranny of the room. Even with such an exquisite nursery and as our daughter grew older, Ichabod insisted that Madeleine spend her nights in her crib next to our bed.

Each morning, he would dress her in the most beautiful velvets and silks, ribbons and slippers. Then she would sit on his knee while he combed her long, glossy, black hair. And she would giggle sweetly when he sprinkled kisses on the crown of her head.

Ichabod wanted the best our daughter, as did I, including academics. By the time Madeleine was six years old, she knew how to read and write as well as many adults.

It wasn't hard to see that the relationship Madeleine and Ichabod shared was divine. Everywhere you saw Ichabod, you expected to see a black haired little girl with blue eyes right behind him or her soft little hand tucked into his own. You couldn't help but smile when you saw the two of them together. They both seemed like prime examples of perfection, and they were.

One warm summer night after Ichabod tucked Madeleine into bed and she was sound asleep, he came to my bedside and gazed at me as if I was an angel. His eyes were lively and dazzling; sparkling like a sky full of a million a gold stars. And yet behind those sparks of love, he was weeping.

I had been confined to bed for months now. I had no strength left and most days seemed like a blessing if I could make it through without crying out with pain. Many doctors came and visited me, and to them I was nothing more than a mystery. I looked more like a corpse than a woman; My hair hung limp and dull at my shoulders and my skin was white and cracked. Dark circles rested under my eyes and the room reeked of illness. I was dying.

"Melanie," he whispered and stroked my cheek. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms gently around me as if he squeezed too hard I would break. He didn't say anything as he carried me through the house and out into the mid summer's night as the moon radiated upon us and as the stars shimmered above us.

"Dance with me," he whispered and he began waltzing across the field, carrying me in his arms. I looked into his eyes as I remembered our first waltz together when we made fools of ourselves. It seemed so long ago, so far back in my memory. But I grasped on to those memories because soon they would be all I would have left. As I said farewell to my life day by day, I loved Ichabod more at that moment than ever before, and that was enough.

He stopped dancing and we sat down as gasses and blossoms embraced us, like lovers embrace each other. I sat in his lap, my head against his heart. "I love you, Melanie," he whispered and held me against his body as tears flowed from his eyes as life flowed from me.


	33. Author's Note

Impediments of our Existence is dedicated to:

Chris

Melanie

MJ

Alys

Ollie

Kendra

Without you guys, I would be lost… 

Thank you all for reading! I truly do appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.

Here's luck to you,

- Vianne Lee


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